New Ground
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: -COMPLETE- When disaster strikes at a crime scene, the split team realizes just what they have lost, and what is still within their reach, especially Grissom.
1. The Setup

**TITLE:** New Ground  
**RATING:** PG-13  
**DISCLAIMER:** If they were mine, they wouldn't be on my Christmas list.  
**PAIRINGS:** GSR, _Maybe _W/C hints  
**SUMMARY:** When disaster strikes at a crime scene, the split team realizes just what they have lost, and what is still within their reach, especially Grissom.  
**A/N:** This story sort of worked its way into my head, and has slowly begun to leak itself out onto paper. I think this is going to be the first in a series, but feedback will determine that, honestly. So, read on!

* * *

"Greg! _Don't move!_" Sara's voice held more exasperation than anger as she made her way slowly toward the eager trainee. She stepped up beside his hunched form, sighing. "You almost creamed a batch of blood evidence, Greggo. That's not cool."

Greg shot her a pouting look, shaking his head. "I already took pictures and samples. And besides...I was being careful." She just gave him a mild glare, which he ignored, instead pointing in the semi-darkness. "Look at this, Sara."

Pointing her flashlight in the direction of his finger, she too crouched on the ground to get a closer look. As her eyes traced the deep gash in the hardwood floor, a frown creased her face. "What the hell?"

"What do you think it is?" Greg questioned, pointing to the strange green substance inside the jagged line.

She shook her head, pulling out a swab. "I have no idea, but whatever it is, it's sticky." After struggling for a moment, she managed to collect a decent sample.

Greg rose up with her, running a hand through his now tamer hair as his dark eyes roamed the scene. "It almost looks like drying glue."

Sara squinted at the substance, thinking hard. "Glue? It doesn't look like any sort of glue I've ever seen."

Greg just shrugged, taking the sample from her and sticking it in his kit. "I've seen it before, in the lab occasionally. It looks like Elmer's Glue, the funky kind kids always buy for school. Mixed with the right stuff, it can make some kick-ass tinted hair-gel." He grinned.

Sara shook her head at him, sighing again. "I think I'm glad I didn't know you in your teens, Greg."

He scoffed at her playfully. "What are you talking about, Sara? I did _that_ in third grade!"

A smile tugging at her mouth, she tugged his shirt lightly. "Come on, rookie, let's go check out the DB's location."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, Billy, you want to tell me what happened?" As Brass waited by the ambulance, he decided he was getting to old for this.

The dark-haired little boy gave him his best scowl, before looking at the ground again, his lower lip trembling. "I'll take that as a no?" Billy kicked at the ground , his legs dangling out the edge of the ambulance.

With a sigh, Brass closed his eyes and counted to ten. He'd never been great with kids, Ellie having sufficiently proven that. He just didn't get why they were so damn stubborn.

Looking around, he spotted the first officer on the scene among the spectators milling around. If the kid wasn't talking, he'd see what he could get from the cop. "Hey, Andrews, what happened here?"

The young cop shrugged, glancing over at Billy. "A neighbor heard a crash, and somebody crying. Knew there were kids in the house, and called 911. I was only a few blocks away, but when I got here, the older kid was already dead, with the little one just standing there. Nobody at the scene, no parents home, and no one else knows anything."

Brass nodded. "We've got the mother coming down. No Dad. Apparently she left her kids at home while she worked the night job over at a Casino. Our Vic is twelve, and Billy over there," he jerked his head toward the forlorn figure, "is 4."

Andrews sighed. "It looked like an accident at first, except the place was a mess and the back door was open. But it really just looks like the kid fell off a chair or something, and hit his head."

Running a hand over his face tiredly, Brass nodded again. "Thanks. I want your report on my desk by tomorrow night. You can clear off now." Andrews agreed, and headed back to his car.

Bracing himself, Brass wondered how Sara and Greg were doing inside, before deciding to try and get something out of Billy. Returning to the little boy's side, he sat down as well, ignoring the heated glare sent his way by the 4 year old. "You gonna talk to me yet?" A violent shaking of a messy mop of hair was his only answer.

Before he could try again, a paramedic came around to them, finished talking to dispatch. She gave Brass a polite nod, before turning to Billy. "I have all the supplies I need now, Billy. So, you wanna let me look at your finger?" She smiled brightly at him, and he grinned in return, before turning to Brass.

"I gotsa boo-boo!" The proud declaration was emphasized by a grubby finger wagging in Brass's face. Pretending to be vastly interested in the bruised and cut digit, Brass's eyes went wide.

"How'd you get that?" He asked, as the Paramedic wrapped the finger up with gauze.

Billy frowned again, his lower lip jutting out. "I was twying to help Awex," Came his soft reply.

Brass guessed that must be the name of the DB, the kid's older brother. "What were you trying to help Alex with?"

Billy's face brightened. "I was helping wif da hammer! But it swipped, and now I gotsa boo-boo."

Brass felt a headache beginning behind his eyes. He'd never understood the toddler-babble. "How did Alex get hurt, Billy? Can you help me out here, please?"

As he'd expected, Billy's scowl returned, and he began kicking his feet out again. It was the paramedic who spoke next, securing the gauze around his finger. "Come on, Billy, you'll help Alex a lot if you tell us what happened. And," She smiled again, winking at him, "I've got an awesome sticker for you if you do."

Billy smiled at her, but it left quickly. "Awex fell down. And now he gotsa boo-boo too. A big boo-boo." A tear splashed down his chubby cheek, and he sent a piece of gravel skidding with his heel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, well, well, the enigmatic entomologist final decided to show!" Catherine's dig was dealt with a grin.

Grissom felt himself smiling back slightly as he carried his kit over to her, avoiding the thorny underbrush of the wooded area. "Yeah, sorry about the delay, but Sofia called in sick, and I had to bring in a replacement from Day, since everybody on Swing and Night has cases." He bent over her, his blue eyes searching over the damp ground and the badly decaying body. "So, got bugs?"

"Well, the aren't milk duds, that's certain," Warrick called from his spot examining a fresher victim.

"Man, shut up," Nick groused back, glaring at him. "In the dark, I couldn't tell the things were _crawling_." His face showed disgust.

Warrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, man, whatever." Looking over at Grissom, he nodded. "Nice to see you, Griss."

"You too, Warrick. Now, does anybody want to tell me what we've got?" For the first time in several weeks, Grissom felt comfortable again, settling into the dynamics of his old team. As set in his ways as he was, he hadn't got back into the swing of things yet after Ecklie let the other shoe fall.

"So far, we've uncovered, three DB's, all in various states of decay, and all covered in bugs. Some couple looking for a little privacy stumbled across the freshest vic and called the cops. And I mean literally stumbled." She paused to wince. "We can't move them until you get samples, Gil, and we need to get a move on, because it's looking like this may be a serial."

"Just based on a common burial site? There could be a lot of reasons for that," Grissom chided absently, retrieving a few sample containers from his kit.

Catherine grinned. "Nice to know you haven't changed, Gil." He glanced at her curiously, but she just laughed, and shook her head.

Blocking out frequent camera flashes from Nick and Warrick, Grissom started collecting the insects, his eyes scanning over the whole scene quickly. "I think we've got cross contamination. The bodies are too close."

"Do we need to move them?" Nick asked, stopping his photography.

Grissom shook his head. "It would compromise the scene. We've just got to move quickly, and no one is going anywhere until this is done."

"Sure thing, Boss," Nick replied automatically, snapping another photo. He froze again, a flush creeping up his neck as he flashed a glance at Catherine. "Uh, sorry."

Catherine nodded, smiling slightly, her wistful look matching everyone's. "We all are, Nicky, we all are."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Man, what a mess!" Sara was in total agreement. Wires, and tape and other various things cluttered up every surface of the dining room, and a puddle of fresh blood glistened eerily on the hardwood, on and around a broken chair.

"David moved the kid before you got here." She sighed sadly. "He couldn't have been more than twelve." She put a hand on Greg's arm as he made to step inside. "Don't inspect yet, Greg, just observe. Go through all your senses, and tell me what's going on here." Both of them had been pleasantly surprised by how well she did as a mentor.

Greg closed his eyes immediately, breathing in deeply. "Smells like blood," He said quietly. "And...some sort of chemical, like, glue, maybe. The air doesn't smell stale, so this room has been lived in." He felt Sara nod her approval beside him, so he opened his eyes and began to look around. "The chair's busted, but there's blood on top of it, so, maybe the kid fell off of it? It doesn't look like it was used to hit him on the head, and his little brother wasn't hurt....right?" He glanced anxiously at Sara, who nodded again. "Uh...other than that, this place is so junked up with tools and wire and weird stuff, I don't know what to make of it. But it doesn't look like a dinning room should."

"Yeah, it's a wreck, and we've got a lot of work to do."

Slowly, they made their way inside, taking thorough samples and photos of everything they came across, before bagging it. Greg did most of the work, Sara watching him and giving out advice. They worked their way from the perimeter in to the middle of the room, where the broken chair and blood rested.

"Man, there was some major tinkering going on in here," Greg said, a quarter of and hour later, as bag upon bag of metal and wires were collected, along with an entire tool box. They now stood above the focal point of the scene, taking photos to catalog the evidence.

Sara nodded, but her eyes were glued to the dining room table, which had obviously been pushed out of its original position. "Hey, Greg, come and take a look out at this. You see the scratches right on the edge of the table?" She ran a gloved finger along the chipped edge. "And..." she plucked something out of the gouges with her tweezers, holding it up for the former lab tech's eyes.

Greg frowned. "A splinter of wood." His glance shifted from the table to the busted chair. "Matching the wood type of the chair." Again, his fingers ran rapidly though his hair, which was quickly becoming a signal of his concentration, much like Grissom's raised brow or Sara's squint.

They both looked around again, their gazes landing on slight dents further in on the table. "Four. Four legs of a chair?" Sara waited, but he didn't seem ready to say anything else.

"Go on, Greg, play it out for me. If you've got a theory, it helps to say it out loud and run all the angles. Call the scene."

He frowned deeply, biting his lower lip. "So, the chair was up on the table, and our vic was standing on it. But...the chair slid, right off the edge of the table, falling apart as it went, and the kid crashed with it. Cracked his head on the floor. I...I don't see any signs of...uh, foul play." His expression was nervous as he waited for Sara's verdict.

"What about the open back door?"

He shrugged. "Two kids home alone, obviously very busy messing around with _something_, maybe they just...forgot?"

Sara agreed with him, her own, more seasoned eyes having picked up nothing. "But why was the chair on the table in the first place?"

Both were quiet for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle. When their gazes fell to a strange shadow on the table cast from somewhere up above, their eyes slid simultaneously up to the chandelier. Looking at the strange silhouette inside cover of the lit lamp, with wires peeking over the edge, all Greg could think was that he'd messed up again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How did he fall, Billy?" Brass prodded gently, wanting the little kid to keep talking. When Billy didn't answer, he tried again. "What were you helping Alex with, huh kiddo?"

Billy blinked slowly. "Awex wanted to be just wike Daddy. He was makin' it so he could help stop it, so he could be bettah dan Daddy, an' not mess up."

Brass desperately wished that made any sense. "What was he making?"

Billy's reply, already quiet, was cut off by Brass's cell phone. Cursing, he answered with a brusque, "What!"

"Brass?" He rolled his eyes. Was it so hard for Sara to come outside to talk to him? But she was still speaking into the phone, her voice sounding slightly funny. "Brass, don't let anybody in the house, ok? And-"

Not listening, he cut her off. "Hold on a sec, Sara, OK? Just hold your horses!" He pulled the phone away slightly, looking back at Billy. "Sorry, kid. What did you say he was making?"

Billy's voice suddenly seemed a thousand times louder, his whisper echoing inside Brass's head like a scream. "A bomb." The child's eyes were wide and innocent.

Not breathing, Jim Brass could hear Sara's voice over the phone again, funny and hoarse. "...and call the bomb squad, Brass. Call the bomb squad."

* * *

So...yeah. DUN DUN DUUUNNNN! ::evil grin:: GSR fluff in this story DOES come, I swear, but that doesn't happen for a while, until after the angst and drama and all that other fun junk, and the fewer reviews I get, the further away it is! (Hint....hint) Uhm, I'm desperately looking for a beta, and I really hope you all like this so far Thanks for Reading! 


	2. The Big Bang

**SPOILERS:** I thought I ought to give you a heads up on spoilers for this one, as it has a brief mention of "No Humans Involved" I was going to put a warning up for "Mea Culpa" with this one too, but then I thought, "...uh, DUH?" So, Everything up to NHI is at liberty to be mentioned in this fic.  
**A/N:** WOW, You guys have blown me away the reviews! I've never gotten such awesome feedback from my first chapter of a WIP. It Inspired me to do another real quick! I've had a couple offers to beta, but have come to realize that my schedule really won't allow me to wait for a beta response, although I may use some of the offers over Xmas Break, so thanks guys. 'Till then, hope you can all forgive my typos and junk. I was so happy with how many of you thought I kept them IC and liked the characters I'm using. Anyway, next installment has arrived, so Read On!

* * *

"Ok, Nicky, let me in there, I need a sample of those maggots." Grissom waited for the Texan to move, pulling out another jar.

"Sure, man, be my guest!" Nick put up no protest, his face scrunched in distaste.

"Hey," Warrick spoke up, his eyes on Nick. "Did you see that episode of House, M.D. a few weeks ago?"

Nick frowned, putting the camera equipment back in the black leather case. "I don't watch that, why?"

Warrick shrugged. "You missed a good one, then. Some girl had a tape worm in her brain that was killing her; reproduced a bunch more that were living in her body." He grinned at Nick, who groaned.

"Oh, God, War, that's sick! Why the hell would you _tell_ me that?" He came around the vic to shove Warrick lightly.

"Hey man, don't get mad at me!" The black man held up his hands, smirking. "You're worse about it than Sara."

"Hey you two, we're at work, remember? That being the place where you, uh..._work?_ So get on it," Catherine called to them, from where she was still photographing the oldest body.

"Alright, alright," Nick groused, and crouched down to pull some leaves out of the freshest victim's hair.

They worked in silence for a while as Grissom took the last few insects he needed, and the others finished collecting the rest of the evidence. "So, how are things going with Sofia and Greg?" Catherine asked Grissom a few moments later. She wasn't ready to bring up Sara just yet.

"Sofia is...well, she does her job," Grissom said, hesitating. The truth was, he didn't know much about her, and he didn't care to. "She can be a bit...overzealous," He said, thinking back to his first time working with her, and their recent case where she chased after the suspect to recover the gun.

Warrick grinned. "Sounds like she and Sara will get along fine."

Grissom frowned, wondering first how Sara was doing on her case, and secondly if Sara and Sofia _did _get along. "She flirts with me," he blurted out, and then blinked, knowing this was not at all what he had planned to say.

Three snorts of laughter replied. "Who, Sofia, or Sara?" Catherine was the only one brave enough to question.

Grissom's mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. He didn't want to say _both_, because Sara really didn't any more, and for some reason, when she _had_ done it, it had been an entirely different sort of thing than Sofia. Maybe because he had welcomed it with Sara? "Sofia," he said blandly, struggling to get his equilibrium back. "So, what about your guys on Swing Shift? Palmer, Coleman and Hall, isn't it? You guys like them?"

They went willingly with the subject change, Catherine's face impassive, and Nick and Warrick looking disgusted. "Not...not particularly Griss. They're more of...uh, Dayshift's breed," Warrick said, scooping some dirt into a manilla pouch.

"You'd think they crawled right out of Ecklie's ass," Nick muttered, loudly enough for them all to hear.

"Nick!" Catherine said sharply, but then she sighed. "Don't say it again, because as Supervisor, I'm not allowed to tell you how much I agree." Nick just nodded.

"Well...I'm sure you'll settle in after a while," Grissom said. In his head, his voice reminded him bitterly that he did not think so at all. He missed his old team.

Finally, Catherine stood up, rolling her shoulders, followed by Grissom, who winced as his knees cracked in protest. "Warrick, go ahead and call in David, he's waiting up on the road to come get them." Warrick nodded at the blonde, and disappeared through the trees.

"So...we've got three vics, all male, and all in various states of decay, and....not much else," Nick said, scratching his head.

Catherine nodded, looking around. "The soil's too loose to keep footprints preserved, and no fingerprints were found anywhere."

"Well, when I get a time line set up, we'll at least have a starting point," Grissom returned, examining a pine-bark beetle scuttling around happily inside a small specimen jar.

Nick shook his head. "I never did get how you could put all your faith in bugs, Grissom."

Grissom looked up, eyeing his former CSI thoughtfully. "Bugs don't lie, Nick. People do. People also make mistakes, confusing details and messing up evidence." HE sighed. "Bugs have only facts, and they _are_ the evidence."

"Yeah, and you don't have to interact with them like people," Catherine added, grinning at him. He only shrugged, the side of his mouth quirking up. "Ah, hey David!" She called brightly when the Assistant Coroner came heading towards them, stretchers and body bags in tow with his fellow workers. Warrick loped ahead of them, reaching the CSI's with a beleaguered look on his face that told them all he had an idea in his mind.

"What's up Warrick?" Grissom wondered if he was stepping on Catherine's toes, but a quick glance told him she didn't mind.

"Found something we missed." He held up a slip of paper. "Fell out of the newest vic's pocket." He handed it to Catherine, who read the words on the paper coaster. _Sunset Casino. _

"Well, now we know something we didn't before, and we've got a starting point," She said, with a small smile of satisfaction. "So, Gil, If you'll go back to the lab and start the time line, The boys and I will go--"

"Hey!" Nicks shout cut her off, and they all looked to find him staring up towards the road at a form plodding steadily towards them. "Hey, you can't come down here, this is a crime scene!"

The figure, a thin man who looked like he was in his mid-thirties, stumbled to a halt about 30 yards from them, heavily dropping the bundle he'd carried over his shoulder with a disappointed expression. As the CSI's gazes caught sight of stiff fingers peeking out from the blue cloth bag the man had dropped on the dirt ground, the stranger's reply perfectly mirrored their thoughts. "_Damn._"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Yeah, Brass, I know the kid was only twelve, but since I'm currently looking down on what could very likely kill us all, I think you'd better call the damn bomb squad anyway!...Yes, Brass, I can confidently say it's not a dud!" Sara didn't bother to coat her anger, trying to still her shaking hands. Greg stood frozen, looking at her from the ground, his eyes wide and glassy. Sara tried to give him a weak smile as Brass's voice attempted to calm her.

"Yeah, Brass, we're fine, for now. Just call the bomb squad and no one comes inside....No, Brass, we can't leave the scene, or risk tripping the bomb." Her eyes followed the thin wire trailing across the ceiling from the lamp and down to the doorjamb. It was a miracle it hadn't blown already, as many times as the door had been open. They couldn't risk trying it again. "...We've just got to...yeah. We've just got to wait. Ok...We'll uh, we'll call you in a few...yeah." Shoving her cell back into her pocket, she peered at Greg again, who still hadn't moved since helping her up onto the table to look inside the light cover.

"You, uh, wanna help me down, Greggo?" He blinked at her, but didn't reply. Swallowing hard, she tried again. "Come on, Greg, give me a hand."

He blinked again, his face twisting into confusion. "H-huh? Oh, oh, Sorry S-Sara." He clumsily thrust an unsteady hand in her direction, and she slid gently back down to the floor, afraid of making to much movement or noise. She guessed it was on a timer, but she hadn't seen one, and she didn't want to take any risks.

"Greg?" She didn't let go of his hand, tugging him gently over to the far wall of the dinning room. "Sit down."

"B-but the evidence-" He muttered, even as he slumped onto the ground. Sara followed him.

"We've collected and recorded everything we can." Greg just shook his head slightly, and leaned it against the wall.

As she looked at him, Sara felt quit a few things. First being fear, followed closely by guilt. She was the Primary on this case, the one responsible for making sure it was safe for other members of the team to do their jobs. And she had messed up. Badly.

And it was worse than that, she decided. She had let Greg down. Failed a friend, who had already been through this deal once, and obviously wasn't doing well with a possible repeat performance. Not that she was cool and collect either, she reminded herself absently, as a shudder of fear trailed down her spine and through her limbs.

"Will Grissom be pissed?" His voice startled her, and she jerked her head around to face him again. _Damn!_ She hadn't even thought about calling Grissom. She'd thought about him, yes, but never about trying to reach him. Oddly enough, she felt no desire to get out her cell.

"Yeah, probably," She muttered back, dropping her eyes to stare blankly at the fading scar in her palm. Hearing Greg's sigh, she spoke again. "But not at you. Greg, believe me. You've done good today." She closed her eyes. "Today was your last proficiency, you know. Your last chance, actually."

"Oh? How'd I do?"

"You passed with flying colors, Greggo."

"I missed the bomb." He sounded dejected and...scared.

Sara's snort surprised him. "Greg, I'm the damn Primary. If _I_ didn't notice the bomb, I can hardly dock off points from _you_ for not noticing."

He managed a grin. "If we get out of this alive, I'm going to buy you breakfast, Sara. No meat, even!" She smiled back at him, but it faded as the reality of his words hit them both. _If we get out alive._

"Sara?" His voice was small and young sounding.

"Yeah Greg."

He swallowed. "What do we do now?"

A flash of images burst in her brain. _I don't know what to do about... 'this_.' She almost laughed at how well it fit. She was just as lost anyone right now. "We wait, Greg. We wait."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brass swore as he hung up the phone. The squad couldn't get there for fifteen minutes, and since Sara had said it looked unstable....he swore again. He had no way of knowing how much time they'd have.

Glancing over at Billy, he gritted his teeth. What the hell was going on? A twelve year old built a bomb with help of his toddler brother, that was now about to take out 2 of the best CSI's in the state?

"Hell Bells," He muttered, curling and uncurling his now sweaty hands. He needed to clear the scene, get everyone away. Sara was in there. _Sara._ He'd come to think of her like a niece, she was just getting her life together, Grissom still hadn't gotten his head out of his ass..._Shit, Grissom!_

He yanked his phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it in shock when it began to ring. Glancing at the Caller ID, he took a calming breath before answering. "You OK, Kiddo?" Sara's voice still sounded slightly detached, but it was more natural than it had been 10 minutes ago. "...Yeah, yeah, their ETA is 15 minutes. How's Greg?" The 'fine' he got was laced with enough sarcasm to let him know how the Rookie really was. Greg had always irritated him, but if Brass was honest with himself, it was because he had chosen cop instead of Lab Tech. Not that he had the brains, but...

Pulling himself out of his internal rambling, he responded, "Hang in there, OK, Sar? Just sit tight and we'll get you both out...Yeah, I was just about to call him, but are you sure you don't want to do it?" He knew the answer already, and knew there were so many reasons she didn't want to. "...Ok, yeah, I'll call him. You'll be alright, Sara, OK? Call me back if you need me. I'm waiting right outside..." She hung up without a 'goodbye' for which he was grateful, already disgusted with the way this was playing out.

He punched in the first two numbers of Grissom's cell, and then really dropped his phone this time, when a car came screaming down the street, careening over the curb and cutting into the lawn, howling to a burning halt half a foot from Brass's kneecap. When air returned to his lungs, he swore again, just for good measure. _Definitely_ getting to old for this.

The woman who staggered out of the car, still in her Casino uniform, was nothing short of hysterical. "Where are they?" Her scream was choked and she collapsed onto Brass, clinging to his shoulder as she sobbed. "Oh God! Where are my _babies?_"

Prying the distraught mother off of him, he slid a hand under her arm, and helped her over to the ambulance. "Billy is right here, Mrs..." He searched his mind. "...Mrs. Nieman. He's right here."

Malory Nieman pulled her son off the back off the ambulance and into a tight hug as the little boy started to cry. "Mommy, Mommy! I'm sowwy! Awex fell, Mommy, he fell."

The woman began to cry harder, though Brass had not thought it was possible. "I know, baby, I know, but you're OK, and that's all that matters right now, OK? That's..." She broke off with another sob.

Brass waited a respectful moment before approaching her. "Mrs. Nieman?" She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Mrs. Nieman, I'm Jim Brass, a detective with the LVPD. I'm really very sorry for you loss. I know this must be difficult for you, but, I'm going to have to ask you a few questions."

She nodded, pulling back her light brown hair from her face, where it had slipped some time ago. "Of...of course, Det. Brass."

"First..." Brass glanced anxiously at the house. HE _really_ needed to clear the scene before the bomb squad got here. And Grissom...He bit his lip. "First, you need to be made aware of some things, Mrs. Nieman. It...It looks as though Alex simply fell. We thought at first there was some foul-play involved, but, according to the scene examiners, it seems that I was just an accident."

"He fell, Mommy," Billy intoned softly, from his spot nestled against his mother.

She ran a hand through her son's hair. "Shh...it's ok, Baby." She looked back at Brass. "Is there something else?"

Brass swallowed, not sure how to proceed. Suddenly, something Billy had said flashed in his mind. "What did Billy's dad do for living, Mrs. Nieman."

A look of confusion crossed her features. "He was a scientist. He uh, worked in the FBI on, on bomb dismantling. He..he died last year in a bad bomb search..." Her face crumpled and another tear slipped down her cheek. "Why?"

Brass felt a cold wave of fear wash over him, his subconscious hope that the bomb was a dud having just been shot down. "Mrs. Nieman...It...it looks as though Alex may have been....building a bomb. We think he might have fallen when he was trying to place the bomb in a light in the dinning room, but, it was fully operational. Two Crime Scene Analysts are..." He swallowed. "...are stuck inside, Mrs. Nieman. And the bomb squad is on its way." He let out a slow breath as her face froze in horror. "Could...was Alex capable of making a bomb, Mrs. Nieman?" He prayed the answer was no.

Very slowly, Malory nodded. "Oh yes," she said faintly. "Yes, he was."

Reality slammed into him with the weight of a pickup truck. Gasping, Brass whirled around, running over with a speed he didn't know he had to one of the cops still trying to keep back the viewers who were staring at him with wide eyes. Grabbing the seasoned-looking officer, he said, "Williams, get on that bullhorn, and get these people away. We've got a bomb."

Acting without hesitation, the cop nodded. Grabbing the horn he bellowed into it, "PLEASE CLEAR THE SCENE! GET BACK! THERE'S A POSSIBLE BOMB ON THE PREMISES. ALL CIVILIANS ARE ASKED TO LEAVE THE SCENE IMMEDIATELY!"

Watching with detached interest, Brass noticed that he had never scene lookie-lous clear the scene as fast as they arrived, until now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara had almost finished the periodic table when Greg drew in a sharp breath. "Oh _shit._" Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at his now pale face quickly.

"Greg?" He didn't answer, staring at something across the room, his wide eyes dark with horror. "_Greg!"_

He turned to her slowly. "Sara," his whisper was dry and rough. "Sara, the light is on a timer. I've got one like that at my house. It turns the light on and off every 40 minutes."

Sara's stomach twisted slowly in on itself.

"He's used the light as the power source, Sara. That's why the bomb is up in the light, because it's fused with the wiring. And since the light is on a timer..." the bomb was too. "And," a shudder wracked his frame, and her hand shot out to grip his arm without knowing it. "We've been in here..." She already knew it was too long. "...We've been in here l-long enough. The light is gonna go off any second. And so is the bomb. It...the door doesn't matter."

Neither of them moved, their minds lethargic with terror and shock. Something inside them told them they couldn't get out in time anyway. As the seconds ticked away, all Sara could think was that she had no idea who would water the plant Grissom had given her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once the crowd dispersed, Brass shook his head numbly and returned to the Ambulance where Billy and Mrs. Nieman still stood. An armored van rolled into the driveway at that moment, breaking the yellow police tape carelessly. Giving Mrs. Nieman what he hoped was a reassuring look, Brass turned to await as the armored crew hopped out of the van, shouting orders and getting equipment ready. He felt some muscles in his neck relax a little at the thought that this would all be over soon, and Greg and Sara would get out of there unharmed.

But as he stood watching, a peculiar sensation crept over him, a feeling of dread tingling in the pit of his stomach like nothing he'd ever felt before. Frozen, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rising up. Brass's eyes clampedshut and heswore a final time as a shattering explosion threw everything into brilliant chaos.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Across town, as the sun began to rise over Las Vegas, Gil Grissom's cell phone rang.

* * *

Ok, wow, this is crazy. Another cliffy, I know, and I'm...NOT SORRY! MUAHAHAHA ::chokes:: Uh, yeah, anyway, when I finished this, I started to laugh, because...well, here's a secret. This was originally supposed to be a three chapter piece that was just GSR fluff all the way. Well, so much for that. This thing has seriously taken on a life of its own, and I really hope you guys are liking it. Thanks for Reading! 


	3. The Aftermath

**BABBLING A/N: **I would just like to say THANK GOD FOR SNOW DAYS! I've been out of town all weekend, so depressed at not getting to post for you brilliant people, and then SNOOW! And we can't forget the monkeys who run the BOE. If they weren't such chickens, I'd just be getting home! So yes, PRAISE THE SNOW GODS! Oh, also, I'm hoping to post quicker now hat the holidays are coming up, so keep your eyes peeled!  
**REALLY IMPORTANT...THINGY: **I FIXED MY STUPID "DUH" IN THE PLOT LINE! It's still stupid, but at least I have now created a mildly plausible reason why Greg and Sara couldn't leave the scene. Thank you all for the cyber kick-in-the-ass. For those of you who are too busy to re-read it, nothing even remotely pivotal to the plot has changed, I just had the bomb wire running to the door so if they tried to open it again, the whole thing would go Ka-blooie. Now, if ANYONE even THINKS about asking me why they couldn't have just crawled out the window, I LAUGH AT YOUR SUPERIOR MIND, and thumb my nose in your general direction. With that said, Read On!

* * *

The first thing Brass was aware of was not intense pain, as he'd expected. In fact, he felt relatively OK, considering he's just been thrown about five feet through the air. Now if only he could wake up from this nightmare.

Opening his eyes slowly, he was met with the pale pre-dawn sky and leafy treetops swaying slightly. Calmed somehow by that image, he managed to make himself roll over, ignoring the sharp pain in his muscles. He felt a slow fire burning in his left wrist, and glanced down at the swollen appendage with a blank glumness.

The world swayed when he finally got the nerve to look up at the wreckage before him. Smoke was rising from the sad, charred remnants of the house, debris covering everything within 20 yards. Cops were just picking themselves up off the ground, looking dazed, and the blonde paramedic was staring horror struck at her twisted ambulance as she hung an arm loosely around the once more hysteric Mrs. Nieman. Billy sat quietly on the asphalt, looking up at his mother with wide, frightened eyes.

Brass took in the scene, cataloged it in his mind, and drew his gaze back to what was left of the house. The spasm that cringed through his body had nothing to do with his sore muscles, and everything to with the painful, twisting horror deep in his gut. Covering his mouth with the back of his good wrist, he choked back a gagging cough, the bitter sulphuric scent of burned plastic making him feel sick.

"Detective Brass? Sir?" The gentle touch on his shoulder made him flinch back, his throat too tight to mutter an expletive. Looking up into the face of the first cop on the scene, Andrews, he managed a weak nod. "Are you alright, Sir?" His question was sincere, but it didn't register with Brass, who was staring with fascination at the blood dribbling down from the deep gash in the you man's forehead.

Turning his head away from the query, Brass's eyes landed instead on the bomb squad, who looked almost amusingly lost. It made sense, he mused. After all, the bomb had already blown, so what could they do? Another shudder slithered down his spine.

"Hey, Brass, you OK?" This time it was Williams' voice that called to him, while strong hands hefted him to his feet. With the vague feeling that he should be embarrassed by this, Brass looked at the ground.

"Sir?" Andrews again. He wished they'd go away. "What...what are we supposed to do sir? There...The CSI's, Sir, they were still..."

Brass had to shut him up. He couldn't hear the end of that sentence. Clearing his throat, he barked gruffly at them both, still not looking up. "Somebody get the LVFD down here if they haven't already been called! We need to make sure nothing else is going to burn." Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Williams. "Jack, you know what needs done. Go do it, and take the kid with you." He jerked his head at Andrews. "And you, Andrews, get that forehead checked out, and soon." With nods, they walked off.

Brass rubbed his wrist gently, the pain helping him recollect his thoughts that had scattered about like papers from a filing cabinet. His eyes fell back onto the fallen house, and a painful howl of fury threatened to escape him, the urge so strong that he bit his lip to the point of blood. This wasn't supposed to have happened.

Whirling around, his gaze landed on the bomb squad. "You!" His tone was almost an accusation. "I think you're a little late, don't you, fellas?" They didn't feel guilty enough to satisfy him. They couldn't. "Go back to your station. You're of no help now." When they did not jump to his command, he sneered. "Get the hell out of here, _now_!" Finally they began to move.

His eyes swept once more over the scene, watching in disgust as the civilians began to return to the scene. They now stood, gaping at the wreckage, like it was some display for their amusement. His good hand clenched into a shaking fist.

"We called the Fire Department. ETA is five minutes," Williams spoke from behind him. When he only nodded, the cop tried again. "Hey...Jim, you OK? I know you knew the CSI's in there..." he trailed off. "Jim?"

"I'm fine, Jack. Go make sure our first class civilians over there don't get to close to the action, eh? Wouldn't do to let things get out of hand, now would it?" Not able to miss the seething sarcasm, Williams turned to leave once more. "Oh, and Williams?" He stopped, waiting as Brass glanced again at the ruins. "Call the search team in with some heavy equipment. We...we at least have to recover...the bodies."

It was at this point Brass realized there was nothing else he could do. He turned again to stare at the deathtrap that had just taken away his normal life. Some small part of him hoped that maybe, just _maybe_ they had somehow managed to survive. But he was a cop, and a realist. And he knew they weren't coming out of there, except on stretchers. In body bags. Someone else would have to process this new crime scene, probably Grissom...

Brass staggered forward a few steps, the air leaving his lungs as his stomach tried to revolt. Jesus H. Christ, _he was going to have to call Grissom_. HE was going to have to call his best friend and tell him that...Greg...Sara...He squeezed his eyes shut. _Sara!_

As sirens sounded in the distance, Brass stumbled over and picked up his cell phone off the grass with shaking fingers, pawing roughly at his eyes to rid himself of the sudden dust in them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom jumped slightly at the ring that suddenly filled the interrogation room. Mr. Michael Bryner blinked at him slowly, stopping in mid sentence. "You gonna get that?" The scrawny man asked, sounding as if he couldn't care less.

Well, right now, Grissom couldn't care less about whoever was calling him either. It was not every day a serial killer was caught with a fresh body, returning to an _active crime scene_. And the fact that Bryner was now denying he knew anything about _any_ of the bodies - including the one he was carrying - made him all the more fascinating to Grissom. And the damn phone had just interrupted the first honest statement the suspect had made.

Catherine glanced over at him as well, looking mildly irritated as it rang again. "Please continue, Mr. Bryner."

Bryner arched a brow over his wide, watery eyes. "What was I saying?"

Grissom was now at the end of a scathing look from the blonde as his phone rang one final time and fell silent. "You were discussing your gambling habits at the Sunset Casino, Mr. Bryner," she said, trying to remain calm. They'd been at this for ten minutes, but it felt like hours.

Bryner blinked again, a twisted, nasty look curling his lip up into a smirk. "The where?" He shrugged. "Never heard of the place." As Catherine's mouth opened again, he cut her off. "You know, I'm sort of thirsty. Do you think I could get some water? And, uh," he blushed. "I really gotta pee. Can we take a break?"

Whatever reply Catherine planned, it was cut off when Grissom's phone began to ring again. She threw up her hands in disgust. "Fine! We break for ten." Another withering glance was aimed at Grissom as they left for the observation room where Nick and Warrick were waiting.

"I apologize, Catherine," Grissom tried, over another shrill wail from his phone. "People...no one ever calls me when I'm in interrogation."

Catherine glared. "We lost him, Gil. We were finally making it somewhere and that damn cell screwed it up, and screwed _us_ over. He isn't going to talk now."

"You don't know that." He avoided her gaze because he had the very same feeling. He knew he should have just stuck to the bugs.

Catherine's eyes rolled spectacularly as the phone continued on. "Just answer the phone, Gil, OK?"

Shooting her another look of apology, he pulled his cell off the clip on his pocket, flipping it open. "Grissom." Brass's voice sounded gruff and pained as he said hello. "Jim? Is something wrong?"

Grissom actually felt the blood drain from his face as Jim's words slid into his ear, some standing out in bold print. _"...explosion...Sara and 't have survived..."_ He'd never heard Brass's voice sound so broken. He'd never had his vision twist quite the way it was now. The phone crashed to the floor from his trembling fingers.

"Grissom?" Warrick's voice was concerned. His gaze fell to his old team, almost amused at how warped and far away they looked. He watched the black dots dancing on and around them, and found himself wondering if he'd locked his townhouse that evening.

The voice that issued from his mouth was low and gravelly, foreign to him. "There's been an accident." The world twisted violently, and he slid to the ground, his head in his hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara groaned as her alarm went off, her hand feeling around for the snooze. Her head muzzy, she grappled around with her eyes closed, eager to make the ringing stop so she could go back to sleep. When her hand landed on something warm and soft, a thrill of terror went through her that she didn't quite understand.

Slowly, she pried her lids open, dazedly amused when she found herself looking at a toy car that was dangling over her head, stuck to a wooden beam by the edge of a melted tire. Then, deciding it was the only appropriate course of action, she screamed.

She bit her lip to stifle the terror-filled sound as memory came rushing back, and her stomach clenched in sick horror. She and Greg had just been in an explosion. Another one. _Greg!_

Panicked, she tried to sit up, but a sharp, burning pain in her thigh had her flat on her back again in an instant, gasping for air. It was then that she became aware of the warm, sticky blood on her leg. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to get her thoughts together. Fright warred with reason, her instincts trying desperately to override any training she had. She laid like that, silent and still for endless minutes, trying to pull herself together.

With her eyes closed, her other senses began to clear, and she was once more aware of the soft warm object under her right palm. Flesh. Blinking, she slowly tried to sit up again, the pain pounding through her body as nausea rolled in her stomach. Gritting her teeth, she breathed heavily through her nose till the worst passed.

She looked around slowly, her eyes first falling on the heavy beam resting on her left leg, and widening as she saw the large piece of wood sticking out of her thigh. Quelling her panic once more, she looked to her left, so see her hand resting on the cheek of one Gregory Sanders, who was not moving.

Terror seized her at his stillness, and she tried to lean over to him, but the patches of black swimming across her vision warned against it. Shaking, she moved her hand down to his lips with a silent prayer.

The gentle puff of air across her palm was the most wonderful thing Sara had ever felt. Gasping in relief as a sob escaped her throat, she ran her fingers through his hair absently. "Greg? Come on Greggo, you need to wake up." She shook his shoulder, her thigh burning in agony as she moved. "Greg! Come on Greg, wake up. Please?" A shiver ran through her. "Damnit, Greg, wake _up!_"

His moan was music to her ears. She waited, holding her breath as his eyes slowly drifted open, his dark irises blank and unfocused. He moaned again. "Sara?"

She ran her hand through his wild hair again. "Rise and shine, Greggo."

"Uhg." They both thought that summed matters up nicely. "We got blown up again."

"Yeah."

He blinked, his gaze roving around in the quasi-dark. "Where are we?"

She bit off her sarcastic retort, and began to look around herself, having been so worried about him before that she hadn't been observant of her surroundings. Looking up, she noticed shafts of light filtering down through the rubble. "Is that a water heater?" She followed his eyes to the still intact metal structure.

"We're in the basement."

"Literally, or figuratively?" His smirk reassured her a little, but when he suddenly began coughing, thick wet chokes of air, worry closed in again.

"Greg?" He gasped for air as the fit subsided, his eyes glued to the ground before him.

"Blood." He swallowed audibly. "I'm coughing blood, Sara. You...you know what that means." She did.

"Can you move, Greg?" Internal bleeding was never a minor injury.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained groan issuing from his lips as he rolled to his side. "Don't go on your back. If you cough again...you could choke."

"Thanks for that info, Dr. Sidle." She was silent. "I'm sorry Sara. I...I'm scared."

Staring at her mangled leg, she nodded. "Yeah, me too, Greg."

There was a long, quiet pause, only Greg's increasingly wet breathing filling the room. "Are they going to find us, Sara?"

It amazed her once again how young he sounded. Had she ever been that young? She allowed herself a bitter smile as she wondered if this was how Grissom felt. "I think it will be awhile, Greggo."

"I may not have that long." What could be said to that?

Sara shivered again, aware shock was setting in. She fought it, knowing that Greg's only chance to make it out alive could very well be her ability to help him. Her eyes were drawn once more to her damaged limb, the fire lancing up her leg like nothing she'd ever felt before. She knew getting the beam of was going to do more than hurt. "Greg?"

Another liquid cough. "Y-yeah, Sar?"

She breathed in deeply. "I need you to ignore me, for a minute, ok?"

"Huh?"

"Greg, just, just recite the periodic table, or something." She cut off his words. "Just do it Greg!"

Still confused, his voice wavered softly. "Alright."

Again, she took a deep, slow breath through her nose, and held it as she stretched forward and shoved the beam as hard as she could. She couldn't bite back the whimper, even as it slid off a little. "Sara?"

"Periodic table, Greg!" She softened, panting and dizzy. "Recite it out loud. I...I need a distraction."

This time, he didn't hesitate. "Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium..."

Focusing on his words, she shoved forward again, the beam slipping drastically, even as the stake in her thigh ripped pain through her entire being. "_Shit!_"

Greg didn't stop. "...Magnesium, Aluminum, Silicon..."

She took a sharp breath through her nose to cut off a heave from her rebelling stomach. Stretching as far as she could, she pushed for all she was worth, until her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the wood as it slid to the cold ground. She caught sight of the strange angle her leg was at just as the fresh blaze of renewed agony swept through her, wrenching a sob from her throat that she couldn't " his voice slowed to a halt as she slumped back, gasping and fighting the tears that slipped down he cheeks. "...S-Sara?" She could only snuffle, biting her lip when his dry hand found hers.

A small eternity swept by before the hazy edges of pain receded from her head enough for speech. "That hurt." Was that really her, speaking with that pitiful voice?

"Yeah, I gathered," he whispered, squeezing her hand. She clutched at his fingers weakly. "You going to be alright?"

She huffed a laugh. "You're the one bleeding out."

"Yeah, but it doesn't...the pain isn't sharp. It's just sort of...achy." He chuckled tiredly. "Although I've got one hell of a lump rising up on the side of my head."

"Mmm, mine's right above my neck." She sighed, wondering what the rest of the world was doing. As she thought this, it occurred to her to check for her cell, which wasn't there, of course. "Greg, have you looked for your–?"

"Yeah." She looked over at him, and he grinned ruefully. "I fell right on top of it. The piece of shit is smashed to bits. Yours?"

"MIA." Just like them. She stifled a hysterical giggle at the thought, laying completely back on the ground, her eyes following the light that drifted down on them. As she looked closer, she realized that the actual opening was only about nine feet up, not nearly as far as she's imagined.

Greg suddenly gave a shuddery gasp, pulling his hand away from hers, and she looked at him just in time to see him curl up, clutching at his stomach as bubbling coughs wracked his body, a miserable moan escaping in between the pained splutters. "Oh, Greg."

It was then that she was struck with the absurdity of it all. Greg dying in a basement of a house where some 12 year old boy decided to full around with something worse than matches. It had such a sense of irony. Sara gritted her teeth, angry now, and more determined. He wasn't going down like this. Neither of them were. He owed her breakfast.

Above, a steady whirring sound, like a chainsaw, buzzed and filtered down past the ringing in her ears. At least they were looking for them, but within this rubble, it would take forever, or a miracle. She didn't think they had either on hand.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, she never knew. Greg's breathing became too labored for him to do anything other than cough, and shock had finally begun to take hold of her system. She was lulled into a doze by the buzzing machinery over them, trying to ignore the headache that settled in as the grinding noise steadily grew louder.

It was not until the metallic thrum became unbearable, and the first trickle of sawdust drifted down into her eyes and up her nose that she even considered what any of it meant. But as the debris covering over the dark little room began to fall in around her and Greg, and sunlight suddenly blasted down mingling with urgent shouts from a familiar voice, a slow smile worked its way onto her face.

Perhaps they had their miracle after all.

* * *

Check that out! It wasn't a cliffie! Sorta... ::EVIL LAUGHS:: Anyway, I hope this lived up to your expectations, and if it didn't...please tell me you love me anyway. ::Grins:: Thanks for Reading! 


	4. The Procedures

**A/N:** God, people, I am sooooooo sorry about being a lazy bum. But my Christmas haul was disgustingly huge this year, and I've been playing with all my cool stuff (Including a CSI game! Woohoo!) And then I've got to do a six page thesis introduction on a science experiment I'm doing. My science teacher is like, a Nazi reincarnate. I'm a freshman in _highschool_ for chrissake! I don't understand this thesis mumbo-jumbo! Actually...I'm just too lazy.... ::grins:: But ANYWAY, again, I am REALLY sorry about the delay, and I hope this chapter is decent. Damn, Grissom is a hard dude to write! So yeah, enough mindless babbling, Read On.

* * *

**Grissom remembered** warm summer nights in Boston, and wine in yellow plastic cups. He remembered throwing dummies off buildings, and duct tape in cars. He remembered ice rinks, and beauty, and plants, and dinner offers. He remembered her smile.

As far as he could tell, he had somewhere around 30 blowflies on the second body, 4 times as many maggots, and about 90 pine bark beetles. The freshest DB was still warm, and had already been IDed. The first two victims would take hours, maybe days to properly catalogue the insect count. As far as Grissom could tell, he had the time.

"_You know, by the time you figure it out, it really could be to late."_

He jabbed a straight pin sharply in the direction on the fly's thorax, missing by a mile and driving the sharp metal deep into his thumb. Watching numbly as blood began to seep around the silver, wondering. Did Sara bleed before she died? Was she killed immediately in the explosion, or did she wait, endlessly, trapped as her own life faded away from her...

The nausea he had managed to master a mere hour ago surged through him again, and he dropped the sample and the bloody pin to the table, clutching at the edges as he took a deep breath through his nose.

Catherine had tried to make him leave. And he had to admit, collapsing into a shaking, unresponsive heap was definitely a sign that not all was well. _Well no shit_, he thought, bitterly, as the world began to steady itself again. _Nothing_ was well, or right.

He could still see Catherine's face, pale as chalk dust, and hear Nick's pained cry as an ill-looking Warrick relayed Brass's broken words from Grissom's dropped cell phone. They were all still working too, since they couldn't exactly have time off to grieve for members of a _different _shift. Like Ecklie would have condoned that.

He threw away the mangled pin and got out a fresh one, successfully sticking it through the dead insect this time, pinning it up on the cork board where the first time-line was almost finished. It looked like the second body had only been there a few months, decomposition having begun, but most of the flesh was still in tact. That, coupled with the amount of insects found, led him to predict the victim had been there approximately four and a half months. She'd been in Vegas a little over four and a half years...

Glaring at the unsuspecting maggot that squirmed in his hand, Grissom huffed a sigh. He felt empty. He calm, too, but it wasn't the peaceful kind of calm. No, it was the, 'about to have a psychotic break' kind of calm. He gritted his teeth. Gil Grissom did _not_ have psychotic breaks.

He pinned that final maggot to the cork board as well, neatly printing down it's species type and maturity.

As his gaze wandered to the employees of the LVPD Crime Lab, striding busily through the halls, he felt that familiar, helpless rage boil up within him, screaming to get out. Biting the tip of his tongue, he forced it back. How _dare_ they continue on, like nothing was the matter. Like nothing had happened, like his life wasn't over–

The snort of laughter that escaped his mouth actually startled him. But it _was_ funny, in a sick little way that made him want to cry instead of laugh. After all, they hadn't really spoken in months, not since that near DUI. Flirtations had faded into strict professionalism, and they were just getting a hold on their friendship again. But Jesus God, that didn't mean he didn't still _love_ her.

Grissom blinked, a little taken aback by that mental statement. But it was true. She had finally stopped her open advances, and he had been left to his cold shell. But his feelings had never changed...

"Hello, Gil." Conrad Ecklie somehow managed to sneer even with a look of somber sympathy on his face.

Grissom felt his whole body cringe with surprise, but he was to weary to jump. "What can I do for you Conrad?"

Weasel-man blinked once, cocked his balding head a little, and opened his mouth. "I heard about your two CSI's. Rough break, Gil." The image of Greg's grin flashed through his brain, fading to ashes and blowing away with some imaginary breeze.

Grissom thought he detected a little jeering undertone in that statement, but found that it didn't really matter. Nothing Conrad could do would really matter. "Yes, it is."

Condolences apparently passed, Ecklie straightened. "Of course, you know, Day shift will be taking over this case. Sheriff Atwater knew there would be some protest about this from both you and Miss Willows, but it's only according to procedure, as I'm sure you know, Gil..." he continued to give off hot air, but Grissom stopped listening.

'According to procedure.' He'd lived his life by that phrase. According to procedure when his father left, _he_ was the man of the house then. According to procedure, he'd gotten an undergrad, a masters, and a doctorate. According to procedure, he became Night Shift Supervisor. The procedure of life said he was fifteen years her senior. The procedure of work said he was her boss. According to procedure, he had turned down and pushed out the only woman he'd ever loved, and now, according to procedure, she was Vegas Crime Lab's newest crime scene.

"...just so we're on the same page, of course, Gil." Grissom nodded, unsure and uncaring what he was agreeing to. Christ he needed a distraction! If Greg were here, he'd be blasting that loud, tasteless music, and Grissom could go down and give him a piece of his mind...

The lab remained quiet.

Ecklie licked his lips, no doubt ready to speak again, when Catherine suddenly appeared beside him without the merest glance, looking pale still, but determined. "Gil, I don't think you'll be needing to finish those time lines. It seems Bryner has had a change of heart. He's called a lawyer, but as soon as he get here, Mr. Bryner wants to hand us his confession." The normal satisfied smirk was noticeably absent.

Grissom swallowed. "Alright, Catherine. Come get me before you start." He wondered how his voice was so calm. She nodded, and left, although, according to procedure, she no longer _had_ to follow his orders.

Ecklie cleared his throat, and Grissom turned, slightly surprised to find him still standing there. "Conrad?"

"Well, Gil, as long as I know we're on the same page, there's nothing else I need. The Sheriff will probably be speaking to you shortly." Grissom stared for a moment at the man who could fire him if he didn't follow through this according to procedure. And Grissom found he didn't care.

"Thank you, Conrad." With a final nod, Ecklie left.

Staring at the blank space left by his new boss, Grissom was left with one glaring conclusion. Procedures really didn't amount to shit in the end.

Turning back to the table, he began the now useless second time line; just another thing in which he was too late.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Now, in all technicality, Brass had no business helping the search squad. But the look he shot the captain of the team told them all loud and clear that his assistance was not questionable in this case. He _was_ helping them search for Greg and Sara, even if he knew all they would find would be their bodies.

And when one of the seasoned men picked up a faint sound, and the saws were stopped long enough hear a loud cough from somewhere down below, Jim Brass was _definitely_ going to be the one that pulled sawed-away debris off of the hole, damaged wrist or not.

Sara's eyes were clouded, and her face was pale, and she smiled. Brass felt himself grinning back, his fears pushed away for a blissful second. "Sara! Sara, listen kiddo, we're gonna get you outta there, OK? Just hang tight." It was more than a small miracle she was still breathing.

Sara shot him a look, though it was shaky. "I think you already said that once, Brass."

Yeah, he had. "Captain Brass, we need to get down there and get some medics in there to assess her injuries. And we've still got to look for--" The Head Rescuer's words were cut off by a wrenching liquid spasm of coughs from down below.

"Sara? Sara, are you alright?" Her lips weren't the one's emitting the sounds, and she was no longer looking at him, her wide eyes fixed on a point not visible to him.

"Shit! Brass, get help down here, quick! Shit! Greg's been coughing blood, and he just– he's losing a lot now! Get someone down here, damnit!"

As fear slammed through him again, the next few minutes were lost on Brass. The next thing he was really aware of was Greg's prone body being lifted up through the hole on a stretcher, his lips and front coated in blood, and his dark eyes dull and unseeing, the medics following right after.

Brass was a seasoned cop. He'd done this job for a few decades, and he'd seen his fair share of gore and blood. But seeing Sanders lying there, watching him die, he felt as nauseous as some damn rookie. He bit his lips and breathed hard through his nose, his good hand clutching at the air.

His eyes followed them over to the ambulance a few yards away, and his ears took in the sudden yell from the blonde one as he was maneuvered into the back, a cry of, "We're losing him!" And he could here the mechanical rev of the paddles being charged, and that brilliant sizzleBANG sound of an electrical shot shooting through human flesh.

"Brass? Brass! Wh-what's going on? _Damnit_ Brass, is Greg OK?" He pulled his eyes away from the ambulance, turning back to Sara.

"Just hang tight, Sara. We'll get you out in a minute..."

"Brass! Tell me if–"

"Are you hurt, Sara? Do we need to get medics down there, or just the rescue crew?" His voice was shaking slightly and he pushed on past her questions of Greg.

_SizzleBANG_. A shudder ran through him as it sounded again. The back of the ambulance slammed shut, and the engine started before it disappeared down the street, taking Greg with it.

"I...I'm losing a lot of blood." His attention raced back to Sara's trembling voice so fast he was sure he gave himself mental whiplash.

"_What?_" He peered through the hole, unable to see any distinct injuries from wid torso to the top of her head.

"I...I think...m-my leg's broken and, and...." He watched her shiver violently, her eyes dulled.

"She's going into shock!" The captain of Rescue shouted to a point behind Brass. Turning, he saw that another ambulance had arrived, and two men were racing towards them, stretcher and kit in tow.

Brass never did figure out why his memory blanked at both of their rescues, but again, the next thing he could remember was Sara being lifted out of the hole as well, ashen by this point, but definitely in better condition than Greg. Until of course, he saw the protrusion from her thigh.

"_Jesus._"

"It's not so bad, Brass, really." She winced as she was jostled a bit. "Unless I move."

As the paramedics crawled back to the surface, Brass finally regained control of his tongue. "I'm riding in back with her."

They looked from Sara to him, and then to each other. "You related to her?" One of them asked, even as they began to move her towards the ambulance.

"I'm her uncle." Even in shock, Sara somehow managed to pull off her, _What drugs are **you**_ _on?_ Face. But when the medics turned to look at her, she only gave the tiniest of nods, her eyes sincere and her face innocent.

"Alright." They didn't believe him, but it didn't matter.

He clambered into the back of the ambulance after them, watching as she was wrapped in a thermal blanket and hooked up to an IV. As the doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began to move, her eyes met his, and he reached out to squeeze her hand tightly.

Nothing more could be done or said until they got to the hospital.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom wasn't surprised when the first stab of pain flashed behind his right eye. A migraine was the only thing missing from this hellish scenario.

He squinted around his office, looking for his pill bottle as he shoved around piles of papers. He'd moved into this secluded room a while ago, unable to concentrate anymore on the pointless insects. Bugs were only bugs, after all.

A soft groan left his lips as he finally found the pill bottle. Hindsight was a bitch.

Dropping a tablet on his tongue, he swallowed it dry, relishing in the pain the rough texture caused as it slid down. He'd been pretending to do paperwork, but really, he was just sitting in the dim light and thinking. Regretting.

"Gil?" He winced as the open door spilled in a wide beam of florescent light. Catherine shut it behind her quickly. "Migraine?"

"Yeah."

The blonde eyed him worriedly. They had all lost two dear friends today, but Grissom had definitely lost something more. "The lawyer is here, and Bryner's ready to spill. You still want to come?"

Grissom started to nod, changed his mind as a jumble of nausea rushed through him, and let out a low breath between clenched teeth. "Yeah"

They didn't speak as they walked to the interrogation room, Catherine knowing there was nothing she could say, and Grissom waiting for his damned medicine to kick in. From the looks he was getting, he guessed that he not only looked like hell, but word was spreading through the lab about the explosion. The gossip mills were running full force, no doubt.

Michael Bryner sat conversing quietly with his lawyer, a tall, reedy, older gentleman. As the door shut behind them, the lawyer stood up, straightening his suit jacket. "We've already cleared a deal with the DA. My client is going to give you a written statement, in exchange for minimum sentencing on one count of first degree murder."

Catherine's mouth dropped open. "_Excuse_ me? _One_ count of first degree murder?"

The lawyer shrugged, a hint of a smoky smile playing on his lips. "They felt there would not be enough evidence to get a strong case built for all the bodies."

Grissom sighed. The evidence would have said everything needed. It was always the people who made the mistakes. His stomach clenched in a wave of grief. "Right, well, let's just get this done, then." Catherine clenched her jaw as he spoke, but both knew it was futile to argue.

After all parties were seated, Grissom became acutely aware that Bryner was staring at him. "Don't I interest you anymore, Dr. Grissom?" His voice was no longer nervous or innocent, it was cool and collect.

No, Grissom really didn't give a damn. "OK, Mr. Bryner, tell us what happened."

But Bryner ignored Catherine, smiling unpleasantly at Grissom. "I take it that phone call didn't give you any good news?"

_Jesus._ Grissom gripped his legs tightly, and did not speak. "Mr. Bryner, you've got a deal because you agreed to cooperate. I suggest you start doing so." Catherine's voice held no room for argument.

Numbly, Grissom listened as Bryner spoke, taking in the tale with disinterest. He'd killed 4 small-time jackpot winners from the Sunset Casino over the past year and a half. They were all tourists, so no one had even known of their absence for months. It was simply a string of opportunistic murders. And the truth was, if Bryner hadn't fucked up so royally, stumbling into the open crime scene, they might never have caught him.

It was a short process of formalities, over within fifteen minutes. But as they rose to leave, Bryner's gaze fell to Grissom again. "You know, Dr. Grissom, I may have lost your interest, but you've managed to capture mine."

Grissom's nerves had had enough, and as the hair on his arms rose up, he felt his tenuous grip on patience snap. "As much as I'm sure you'd like that to interest me, Bryner, I really couldn't care less."

Bryner arched a brow. "Before you were watching me like I was some new bacteria found under a microscope. I find this bipolar behavior really quite fascinating."

Grissom felt a surge of rage pound through him that he hadn't felt in several years. "Well, now you're going to have a damn long time to think it over, won't you. We're done here." He left the room in record time, striding past Nick and Warrick, who had just left the observation room.

"Grissom! Gil!" He ignored Catherine's calls until he was safely back in the confines of his office, slumping down into the seat and clenching his shaking hands.

"There was no reason he should have gotten under my skin, I know! I just, I..." He trailed off pulling his glasses away from his face to rub tiredly at his eyes.

"It's been...it's been one hell of a long day, Gil. The boys and I were thinking...we're probably going to go somewhere and get trashed. You want to join us?"

God, he wanted nothing more than to get too wasted to remember his own damn name. So wasted he couldn't remember what Greg looked like, or Sara, or... "No, Catherine. I think I'll pass. I..."

It was his office phone that rang this time, and he stared at it for a blank moment before wiping his sweaty palm against his Khakis and lifting the receiver from its cradle "Grissom."

"_Dr. Grissom? This is Andrea Wilkes, I'm a nurse at the Las Vegas County Hospital."_

"Uh, h-hello. Yes, this is Gil Grissom." Goody, another thing that confused the hell out of him.

"_I'm calling to inform you that Greg Sanders in currently in surgery, Dr. Grissom, and since you are the first name on his list of contacts, you need to come in and fill out some information for us."_

Grissom suddenly felt dizzy, and his lungs begged for more oxygen. "Wh-what?" His eyes fell on Catherine, who was watching him closely, her eyebrows drawn together. "D-did you say Greg Sanders?" Catherine let out a gasp, and stepped closer.

"_Yes, Dr. Grissom. And while he **is** in critical condition, his chances of survival are looking very good. Unfortunately, I can't give you any more information at this time. So if you would please come down and–"_

"I-I'll be there within the hour." He dropped the phone back down carelessly, blinking.

"Gil? Wh-what about Greg?"

_Jesus H. Christ hopped up on a holy handrail!_ "He's alive, Cat."

"_What_?" A sort of hysteric laugh erupted from Catherine. "This isn't funny, Gil, so if you're–" She was cut of at his look.

"Go get Nicky and Warrick, Cat. I'm right behind you. He's at County."

Catherine let out a gasp of "Shit!" and disappeared down the hall, calling for the boys and ignoring the strange looks.

For himself, when he felt fairly sure he was not in imminent danger of passing out, he rose shakily to his feet, looking around his office bewilderedly. Greg was alive! But not, not... He shut his eyes, trying to force that deepest agony away with the fact that Greg was still kicking. HE couldn't let his wishful thinking get in the way of the good that was really happening. But God, how he _wished_ that call had been to tell him...

He grabbed his keys off the shelf next to Miss. Piggy, and began a determined jog through the halls, his stomach coiled too tight for him to walk. If Catherine had been getting strange looks, then it was nothing compared to what the 'Enigmatic Doctor Grissom' was now the subject of.

He rounded the corner, his mind a jumble of thoughts, and managed to nearly collide with the sheriff. "Gil! Gil, I was just coming to see you." Atwater gave him a concerned look, no doubt thinking Grissom was close to a breakdown.

"Sheriff, I really can't do this right now-"

Obviously the Sheriff completely misunderstood. "I know this must be difficult for you, Gil. Sidle was one of our best, and Sanders certainly showed a lot of promise. But we've really got to discuss replacements as soon as possible, because–"

"No! Sheriff, look, I've got to–"

Atwater held up a hand. "Gil, really, I _do_ understand how hard this must be for you, but–"

"Listen, Rory, Greg Sanders is still alive, and I have to get to the hospital _now_. I frankly don't care _what_ you've got to say, it can be said _later._ Good_bye_ Rory!"

Now, almost twenty minutes behind Catherine, who also drove at a completely insane speed, Grissom breezed past the open-mouthed sheriff and headed determinedly for his Tahoe.

* * *

Uh, yeah, that last part was a little weird, but I figured Grissom would probably throw his calm exterior to the wind if this happened... ::frowns:: alright, honestly, I'm a little nervous about losing your all's interest. (Ignore THAT southern inflection, please!) All those kick-ass reviews are a little intimidating, NOT that I want you to stop sending them. My ego is purring like a happy kitten at the moment! But, if I go seriously wrong someplace, PLEASE tell me, and I'll try and pull it together!

Next Chapter, things really get good! I have one or two chapters left, I think, but up next, Grissom sees Sara, and the Geeks have a little panic induced conversation. ::grins:: Thanks fo Reading!

* * *

PS: Oh, hey, I felt so bad, I'm putting forth a poem I wrote in English for you guys to poke fun at! Yay! It was completely CSI inspired, as is pretty obvious.

**Soft Surprise  
**'Gentle, Gentle' low he whispers  
'Tread soft through these unfriendly skies'  
He's been accused, but he's entitled  
until the flame fades low and dies

As she lies open, weak and bleeding,  
and he himself begins to fall,  
One voice rings through,  
(mechanical; steel and true.)  
A final mocking call.

It reads on endless monotone...  
You. Have. Been.  
BUTTERFLIED.


	5. The Hospital

1**Spoilers:**Small one for LHB, and another little one for that one where Nick and Catherine drag race. Right, can't think of the name right now. Bummer.

**Dedication: **I have so many people I need to dedicate chapters to for inspiring me and being awesome and all that fun stuff, but I ALWAYS forget. So I finally remembered this time, and suddenly realized the one person I needed to dedicate this to the most. So yeah, this chapter is for **KRYSALYS73,** who reviewed my first sad little fic a long time ago, and has stuck with me, and been unbelievably supportive the whole way through, no matter what dumb thing I've written _this_ time. So yeah, for lack of a better speech, Krys, Rock On.

**A/N: **Ok, so I'm sorry about another long wait, but I of course put the actual writing of my thesis off 'till the last minute so then pulled two all-nighters in a row, my evil teacher didn't even _collect_ the freaking paper, and I crashed Friday night about five o'clock, completely pissed off at the world and exhausted. That said, I hope this chapter doesn't suck, as it's sorta the one this whole story was based on. Yeah, so in a way, that would be funny if it was awful, and in a bigger way...no. Thursday night's episode was officially the best one I've seen in _forever_ even without any GSR whatsoever, because Greg passed, and NOOO SOFIA! ::happy dance:: Right. Now that you're all properly terrified, Read On!

**OH!:** And BTW, special props go out to Torey, my 100th AND 101st reviewer! ::Grins:: 110 REVIEWS! You all ROCK more than words can say.

* * *

"Jesus Christ!" Nick had never considered himself a praying man, but at this moment, he figured it couldn't hurt. "Holy _shit!_" He tried to get out more, but found himself plastered too firmly to the vinyl seat to gasp out more than desperate expletives.

"Cath, look, it isn't our objective to go see Greg by ending up as his roommates!" Warrick managed from the front seat, gripping the handle above the door tightly.

"Shut up, I'm concentrating!" She muttered back, careening around a corner and zipping past a beat cop standing on the sidewalk, whose mouth hung open in shock as he took in the 'LVCL' painted on the side of the Tahoe.

As they squealed around one more turn, they were suddenly confronted by a string of cars, and a glaring red light. The brakes screamed, and Nick's forehead got up close and personal with the back of Warrick's seat. "_Damnit_ all to _hell_ and back with a _road cone_!" Catherine slammed a fist against the steering wheel in disgust.

"Jesus," Nick moaned in reply, rubbing his red forehead.

Warrick, when he could breathe again, gave the blonde beside him a long look. The anxious pain on her face was glaringly obvious. "Catherine, take it easy. We're getting there as fast as we can." She didn't answer, glaring straight ahead at the poor Ford that happened to be in the way.

"Cath?" He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. After a long moment, her frame slumped, and she leaned heavily against the steering wheel. Warrick rubbed her upper arm soothingly. "Hey girl, what's up?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "For God's sake, Warrick, Greg's in critical condition after getting blown up _again_, and we couldn't leave because we aren't even a member of his _shift_ anymore, and Sara's, Sara's..." She shook her head again, and bit her lip against the tears stinging in her eyes. This wasn't supposed to _happen._

"Hey, hey," Warrick murmured. "I know, Cath, I know. This is...hell, I don't know _what_ this is, but it sucks. But Greg needs us right now, and we can't let him down. We've got go with what we've got, that's all we can do." _Go with the living_. Wasn't that what Sara said to Brass? He hoped he was honoring her wishes.

"Yeah, come on, Cath, you know that's what...what S-Sara would have wanted." The Texan stumbled roughly over her name, his voice breaking at the thoughts running through all their minds.

Catherine blinked hard, nodding. "You're right, Nicky." She stared for a second at the endless red light, before sighing. "I'm not saying I'm not goddamned ecstatic that Greg's even _alive_. It's just that..."

It was just so many things for all of them. Again, Warrick squeezed her shoulder. "Cath, she knew we loved her." She smiled weakly; somehow he always knew what she was thinking. "We all are jerks to everybody sometimes, but we don't just work together, ya know? We 're friends, hell, maybe even family. Sara knew that."

'_Maybe if you were doing you **job**...' _Catherine let out another sigh. "I hope she knew, Warrick, I hope you're right."

"He is," Nick answered quietly from the back, thinking of one of his best friends, now hanging between life and death, and of the girl he thought of as something like a sister, who had already crossed the line. "Warrick _is_ right, Cath. Sara knew. And now we've got to go show Greg." As the light finally turned green, they started up again at an almost normal pace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Grissom's going to be furious." Brass blinked, and then turned to look at Sara.

Trying to figure out this very odd statement, he said the first thing that came to mind. "What?"

Sara shrugged, staring down at her left leg, encased in fresh plaster, her thigh wrapped in layer upon layer of gauze. "I missed the bomb. I let the scene get blown to pieces and I...I let _Greg_ get blown up!" She tapped a absently on the hard encasement covering her shin. "How the _fuck_ could I miss the bomb, Brass? How the hell could I do something so damn _stupid_?"

"Hey, now." Brass gingerly laid a hand on her arm, somehow afraid he might break her or something, if he used anything but the gentlest touch. "It was an honest mistake, Sara. Who's gonna look for a bomb at a scene like that?"

"Still should have seen it," muttered in reply, almost sounding petulant.

Sighing in return, Brass looked her over again, sitting calmly in a wheelchair and bright blue hospital scrubs, for what seemed the thousandth time, barely able to believe she was actually sitting beside him in the waiting room. Hardly able to comprehend she was even breathing.

In truth, she had no business being anywhere but a hospital bed, but a nasty pileup just outside of Vegas had all the hospitals maxed out. On the ambulance ride over, Sara had sort of pulled herself together, coming out her shock sufficiently enough that she was unhooked from the IV when the doctor saw her. She'd been diagnosed with an obviously broken leg, a minor concussion, and some muscle tearing in her thigh, that would possibly need physical therapy to fully heal. Her hearing would be fine again within two weeks. She'd then been put in a cast and given pain killer upon antibiotic upon painkiller to suitably drug her up for the weeks ahead. All of this had occurred within an hour, too, though Brass thought it had less to do with her condition than it did his not so subtle threats and incensed swearing when Sara was out of earshot.

"I can't believe I let Greg get blown up again," she whispered suddenly, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Grissom will probably fire me. He _should_ fire me...I deserve it." Her eyes slipped shut and she grimaced at the memories that rushed through her. "Jesus, Brass, how could I let that happen to Greg? How could I do that to him? I-"

"Sara, stop!" Brass knew his voice was harsher than he'd intended, but he had to stop her line of thinking _now_. "You listen to me, Sara Sidle. What happened was an accident. A fluke. A goddamn fucking _bitch_ of a thing to happen, but it's nobody's fault, probably not even the kid's."

"I'm still going to go down for this." Brass paused, unsure of what to say. In all likelihood, she might. Ecklie was just a bastard that way.

"It was the job of the first officer on scene to declare the sight safe for entry." Andrews was definitely going to suffer repercussions for missing it, and Brass found himself feeling sorry for the kid, except that he almost got two of his good friends blown to little pieces.

"Doesn't matter and you know it. Not where Ecklie's concerned. Not where _I'm_ concerned." Her DUI wasn't going to look good for this.

"We'll worry about that when we get to it, Sar. And I'll back you the whole way." Not only was Brass getting too old for this, he was beginning to say corny things in his old age. Damn.

"Have we heard anything?" She asked, after a long moment of silence.

"No. They took him into surgery immediately. I've been checking ever since, but nothing yet." Brass wanted to tell her Greg was going to be OK, but in all honesty, he wasn't so sure. And one thing Jim Brass _wasn't_ was a liar. He stayed quiet.

"He's going to be OK," Sara breathed out on a shaky sigh. Brass glanced at her pale face, waiting. "He owes me breakfast."

"Well, we can't let a rookie out of a promise, can we?" Brass returned, a small smile spreading on his face.

"He'd better not break this one," she muttered back, still staring at her cast. Her hand trembled at she ran it down the plaster again.

As he watched Sara, Brass knew that Greg had to pull through, for all their sakes. "Yeah, you really need to get out more."

He flinched back playfully a little at the look he received. Whatever scathing retort she might have given, however, was cut off but a sudden crashing noise, and a rather loud yell of "_SARA!"_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Greg was on fire. He was sure of it. His body was being engulfed in flames, and his tongue was too charred and bloodied for him to even scream.

He didn't know where he was, or where this fire had come from, but it hurt. A lot. It hurt so bad, Greg was ready to give away his whole stock of Blue Hawaiian if only he could be left in peace. And for Greg, that was completely admitting defeat.

When he was 12, his house had burned down to the ground one December in a horrific electrical fire. His dog, Spock, had been trapped in the garage, and they hadn't had time to get him out. A week later, sifting through the rubble, he'd smelled an awful, rotten smell, and seen a piece of burned cloth sticking out of a pile of ash. It was Spock's tail.

Greg had had nightmares for months after that. It hadn't really mattered to him that they didn't get Christmas that year, and that he wore clothes that were three sizes too big from salvation army for six months. After all, he didn't really want anything, and kids already made fun of him for his style tastes.

But Greg dreamed about burning.

He had two nightmares that came back for years, and even after he was able to enjoy a bonfire again, they woke him up in the middle of the night, feverish and looking wildly for water to put out the flames. He still had one of them, sometimes, when he'd worked a double, or seen something particularly bad. It had been almost a year since he'd had it, when the lab blew up. And the nightmare returned, and every day in his sleep, he burned.

At first, sometimes, he'd be watching himself burn. Looking up from the ground while his arm suddenly sparked and lit up, and that horrendous charred flesh smell would drift down to him as he watched the look of horror on his own face.

And he'd get warmer and warmer as he watched, until suddenly he was back in himself again, and he could _feel_ the flames, now shooting down his body, creeping up his neck. He always screamed, but couldn't move, struggling in vain against the fire that was melting his flesh. And he'd look down, in a panic, at were he'd been watching himself a moment ago, to find Spock looking up at him with his big brown eyes, and wagging his rear, where only a charred, smoking, bloodied stub remained in place of his tail.

And then the flames would be up past his eyes, singeing his hair and twisting his body in its heat. And in this dream, Greg would scream, the entire time, until his tongue was burned away, and he could no longer make a noise.

Eventually, his legs would be burned to ash, and his middle would collapse from inside out as he fell to the earth, the flames still dancing around his remains. He would look around frantically with his eyes, the only part that ever survived the fire, searching for Spock, thinking wildly that if he could find the dog, the fire would be gone and his body would come back. And then, he'd finally find where the Spock had been sitting before, to look and find only a bloodied, charred tail, sticking out of a pile of ash...

But this time, Greg wasn't waking up, and he couldn't find Spock, or a tail, and he _couldn't wake up_. The fire surged through his chest and he tried to let out a moan or a scream or _something_, only to choke on the smoke filling his lungs. He struggled as another flame lanced through his stomach, and he struggled to get his eyes open before they burned too, because that had never happened before and he didn't know what he'd do if they did.

Then a sharp pain hit them too, and he thought he might be too late, but he realized it was light, not fire, and a bright blue blur was in front of him. It reminded him of water, and of Grissom, but it couldn't be Grissom, because Grissom would never wear anything so blue or blobby. Then a rumbling sound came from the blue blur, like a voice, but Greg hoped it was a stream because he was still burning. Suddenly surge of something wonderful and cool filled him, and his eyes slipped shut again as the blur disappeared.

The fire tamed, at least for the moment, Greg drifted into blackness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara could only stare, wide-eyed as Nick, Warrick and Catherine rushed towards her, looking like they were about to tackle her and beat her to the ground. She wondered for a ridiculous moment if they knew she'd missed the bomb, but when Nick's arms slipped gingerly around her, and he dropped a kiss in her hair, she was completely clueless again. "Uh...Nick?"

"Jesus Christ, Sara," Nick muttered roughly, who was seriously considering going to church come next Sunday. "Jesus fucking Christ." He pulled back, staring at her face. "Is...are you really _here?_"

Oook. "Uhm, yeah, last time I checked." She glanced over in a rather horrified movement as Catherine burst into tears and buried her face in Warrick's chest. Right.

Nick laughed then, a loud, full sound, and pulled Sara back toward him. Confused as hell, Sara looked over to Brass, to find he had a vaguely mortified look on his face, and was staring back at her in a rather chagrined manner. "Nicky? What's up?"

"What...what's _up?_" Nick pulled away again, staring at her like she'd just grown an extra head. Sara wouldn't have doubted it. "Sara, we thought you were...we...we thought you were _dead_, Sar." Nick's eyes suddenly glossed over, and he looked down, blinking hard. Ah, well that explained Brass's kid-in-the-cookie-jar expression.

"I'm OK, Nicky, I swear. Banged up a little, but I'm here." Nick looked up again, smiling widely, and managing to drop another kiss on her crown before Warrick was there, bodily pulling him away.

"_Damn_ girl," He whispered, pulling her into an embrace of his own. Awkwardly, Sara hugged him back. "You gave us one hell of a scare," He muttered next to her ear, his voice breaking a little, before he reluctantly pulled back, giving her a warm smile, eyes searching her face as though to check and make sure she was really there.

"I'm OK, Warrick, really." He nodded once, before squeezing her hand tightly, and rising.

As surprised as she'd been by the boys, there was probably nothing in the world that could have prepared Sara to be hugged by a still teary Catherine. It was just not the sort of thing that happened, well, ever. "Catherine?" Sara was not a touchy-feely person, and her quota for physical contact was so filled an restocked and expanded it wasn't even funny. And Catherine was crying. Sara had a sudden desire to pinch herself and see if she could feel it.

After a moment, the very last of Catherine's tears stopped, and she pulled back scowling at Sara. "Don't ever do that again! You, you...I..._don't do it again_!" Very afraid that Catherine would suddenly try to ground her, Sara nodded immediately.

Then Catherine gave a watery laugh, hugging her again, and wiping at her eyes. "Sara, we've just managed to break you in. You can't go threatening the balance!"

Sara smiled as well, somehow touched, however absurd the situation, that everyone was such a wreck because she was supposedly dead. There had been times when she'd doubted just how welcome she was at the Crime Lab, but this definitely let her know where she stood.

Catherine rose after a moment, shooting Sara another smile before proceeding to melt Brass into his plastic chair with her glare. Not that he needed much help. The guilty look on his face showed how bad he already felt.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Nick's concerned query made her smile.

"I don't know. I'm on some pretty good drugs," She answered lightly, making both the guys grin.

"How's Greg?" Warrick asked lowly, as Nick and Catherine tensed anxiously.

Sara shrugged, shooting a helpless look at Brass, who sighed, rubbing his face. "He's in surgery now. We don't know anything except that there was internal bleeding. He, uh, flat-lined as he was getting in the ambulance, but I guess they managed to bring him back," Brass muttered, looking at the ground.

Sara cringed. She _knew_ she'd heard the crash cart, but had chalked up to shock. Jesus, things were worse than she'd thought.

"Damn," Nick swore, as Catherine let out a soft moan, and Warrick looked at the floor.

There was a long moment of silence, before Sara final got up the courage to ask the biggest question she had. "Hey guys?" She waited until they all looked up. "How...how angry is Grissom?" Their suddenly horrified looks and shocked silence was the only response she got.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom made it to the hospital in record time, which meant it took him thirty minutes to get there, instead of thirty five. He pulled in beside Catherine's Tahoe, his mind completely focused on figuring out how to turn off the engine. That puzzle solved, he managed to get out of the vehicle and walk rapidly across the parking lot, his strange limp more pronounced with his speed.

He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything as he entered the main doors of the emergency room. He wanted to find Catherine and the others and rest. He couldn't get his mind together, or find one single emotion to latch on to. God it had been a long day, and it wasn't even noon.

He walked right past the receptionist, inexplicably afraid to talk to anyone he didn't know, as if it would somehow mess things up some more. He needed to know how Greg was.

"...is Grissom?" He heard her voice again, another random snippet that flashed through his mind as had been happening for a while now. Closing his eyes briefly, he brushed it away, fighting for another step into the waiting room.

When Grissom opened his eyes again, standing in the doorway, his gaze immediately sought out Catherine, who was looking at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. He looked to Warrick and Nick and finally Brass next, who all looked almost the same as Catherine. And then he looked at Sara...

Who couldn't possibly be there. Grissom blinked slowly, wondering why he had to hallucinate her here of all places, wondering why he had to have this strange, embarrassing, terrifying break down in front of the others. Jesus, she was beautiful. Funny how he couldn't get past that fact even if she was nothing but a memory.

"Gil?" Catherine took a faltering step forward, glancing at Warrick and Nick as Brass rose from his seat.

He watched in detached fascination as their gazes swung back to his hallucination of Sara, who was watching this in confusion. Catherine decided to speak again. "Gil, I'm so sorry we didn't call. We were just so shocked, we didn't have time..." As Grissom blinked stupidly again, she trailed off.

Again, his gaze fell to Warrick and Nick, who were looking at him like he might explode, then moving on to Brass, who looked very, very guilty, and next to Catherine, who was watching him like she was waiting to catch him if he collapsed, and then to Sara, who wasn't at all a hallucination.

Again, he blinked, as something huge and hot lodged itself in his chest, forcing its way into his throat, and making his hands shake. Sara was sitting in a wheelchair, staring right at him. _Sara was alive._

Grissom couldn't handle that.

Clearing his throat, he pulled himself off the doorjamb, where he had no doubt swayed to unconsciously. "Any word on Greg?" His voice was monotone and calm.

They all exchanged glances except for Sa– except one was simply looking at him bewilderedly. The world tilted for the umpteenth time that day, and something rumbled deep within in him, clawing desperately to do something, but what, Grissom could not tell. Would ignore. Could _not_ deal with. "Well?"

"N-no word yet, Gil. He's in surgery with internal bleeding. We...we haven't heard anything," Brass answered, as Catherine was too busy taking small steps towards him, as though he might bolt if she went to fast.

"Thanks." Unable to stand Catherine getting any closer, unable to handle _any_ of this - Jesus, she was still looking at him, _she was still there_ - Grissom did the only thing he could think of. He turned and walked away, back out the doors of the hospital.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh...my..._God_," Catherine whispered as stared at the now empty doorway.

"What the hell was that?" Sara demanded of them, not understanding why Grissom hadn't even _spoken_ to her. She'd fucked up, she knew, but even _he_ couldn't just _ignore_ her, after she'd almost gotten blown up. Everyone else had thought she was dead, for Chrissake! They were all looking at her now.

_Everyone else had thought she was dead._

"Ssshhhit." They could only nod.

Sara should have let him go, she knew that. She knew this wasn't going to end well. But she was angry. So, he finds out she's still alive and _walks away_? Goddamnit, was that all he cared any more?

Without really thinking, her hands began to grip the spokes of the wheelchair, and she had wheeled herself quite skillfully around them in a matter of seconds. "Sara?" Nick's voice sounded very unsure.

"I broke my leg in college," she muttered back, though she knew that was not his question. Before any more could be said, she disappeared down the hall, and out the doors after him.

He was standing on the sidewalk, looking frozen, staring out at the parking lot. Some of her anger deflated. "Grissom?" He didn't move. "Hey, Griss?"

Finally, after an endless moment, he turned around and stared at her, his eyes blank and his face impassive. She hated this Grissom. The one she thought didn't really live. "Grissom, what's going on?"

He stared at her for another long moment before his eyes dropped to the ground, but not before she caught a flash of something in his eyes. She thought it might be anger. Could he really be that furious with her? Maybe she deserved it, but...oh hell, this was all so stupid.

"Look, Grissom, I'm really sorry," She muttered, wheeling forward a little. Maybe she could get him talking if only to reprimand her.

She watched in shock as he actually took a few steps away, sidestepping to the right when he almost fell of the sidewalk. What the hell? "Grissom?"

He shook his head almost imperceptibly at her, before turning away to amble down the sidewalk, stopping when he reached a bench. He seemed to consider his options for a long moment, before finally, gracelessly, slumping down into the worn wood and staring down at his shoes.

Sara had no clue what was going through his head. They hadn't really spoken in months, and she suddenly realized she had no idea how to read him any more. She had almost died and he was giving her the silent treatment? She blinked as that thought struck her for the first time. She'd almost died.

Preoccupied with the notion, she didn't really pay attention to what she was doing until she was right in front of him again, his gaze still trained on his obviously fascinating shoestrings. "Grissom?" Tentatively, she reached a hand out to lay it on his arm.

"_Don't_." His voice came out in a harsh command, and he flinched away from her, settling back further into the bench.

Sara was suddenly furious again. This was fucking insane, and she was too goddamn exhausted to play this game with him. She moved further down the bench, swinging herself from the wheelchair to the wood in one fluid, practiced motion. Still, he didn't look at her. "Look, Grissom! I _know_ I fucked up! I know it, all right! I missed something huge and got Greg hurt, and then you all thought I was dead, and yeah, fine, you're angry. But I almost got fucking _blown up_ Grissom, and this ignoring me thing just really isn't working for me today! So fine, you can see I'm alive, Grissom, but you know, it's common courtesy to ask if I'm _OK_ even if you don't really give a damn about the answer!"

At this, his head snapped up, and his blue eyes were suddenly boring into hers with such intensity that she was startled into silence. "You. Think. I. Don't. _Give_. A damn?" His voice was low, and cold and rough, and it only pissed her off more. If he was going to play hurt feelings, _she_ was going to win.

"That would be the impression I got, yeah." How had they gotten to this? No comfort, no warm smiles of flirtatious gestures. Just coldness and anger.

He stared at her, and she stared back for a long, endless, twisting moment, until suddenly, he moved forward, and his face was scant inches from hers, his breathing hot and heavy on her cheek. "How the _hell_ can you think that? How the hell can you think that I would...I thought you were _dead_. And perhaps now you find me such a monster that you'd assume I wouldn't care, but you've known me for ten years, for God's sake! How the _hell_ can you think I don't give a damn? You were gone; Brass said it, and we all knew it, and I was so fucking _lost_ I couldn't even breathe!" He moved even closer and the fury was clear in his eyes, but so was the pain. Sara sat too stunned to speak. "I...I ..._Jesus _Sara!"

And suddenly, the millions of thoughts fighting for position in Sara's brain were scattered out of her head in the merest instant because Grissom lunged forward that final bit, and his lips were on hers, hungry and hot and so desperate it was almost heartbreaking. He attacked her mouth, his hand sliding through her hair, searching and caressing with his lips and utterly terrified that she wouldn't be there when he pulled away.

Finally, for lack of air, he did, hot puffs of air grazing her face as they stared at one another, the emotions so achingly clear in his eyes it frightened her. Of its own volition, her mutinous hand found its way to his cheek, rubbing his beard softly as she waited, not knowing what had happened, not knowing where to turn or what to say.

He leaned in to her caress, his eyes shutting as he whispered her name again, his voice breaking on the last syllable. And when he looked at her again, she was shocked to see tears in this eyes, his gaze roaming over her face as though struggling to memorize every detail of her features. Again, her hand moved on its own, pulling lightly on his jaw, drawing him willingly forward to bury his face in her neck as his tears began to fall in earnest.

Sara Sidle was as confused as she had ever been in her entire, fascinating existence. And for once, as she sat on a bench on a warm afternoon with Gil Grissom trying to disappear in her embrace, she was completely fine with that.

* * *

Ok, so...As for Catherine, I felt like I was treading on shaky ground with her, because I haven't been very pleased with her in a long time. But last episode, she scored major points with me, so I felt compelled to try and actually write her...So, please don't be angry if that was horrendously awful and out of character, and I wasn't trying to make her have one of those 'what have I DONE?' moments, but she's always seemed like a very emotional person about those she cares about, and...yeah. And in an effort to increase the Gregg-ness of this fic, I added his little section, because I've gotten a few reviewers that think I've overlooked him, which is probably true, considering he wasn't even in this story originally. ::grins:: So again, I hope you liked this chapter, and my GSR scene wasn't atrocious as I think it was...and....uh....Thanks for Reading! 


	6. The Wrap Up

**A/N:** Uugh. My sleep deprived brain hopes this chapter is ok. I lostsome reviews with that last chapter, but I'm at 133 with 5 chapters out, so yeah right, like _I'm_ gonna complain ::grins:: you all are really very much my heroes! So, I hope you all enjoy this one. Read On!

Oh, and **Nilrem**, you're number 128! ::grins:: thanks!

* * *

"**Man d'you** **think** she killed him?" Nick asked of no one in particular. Sara had chased after Grissom fifteen minutes ago, and still, neither had returned. 

"Probably," Warrick returned with a shrug. "And Grissom may deserve it."

Nick seemed to think this over very seriously for a moment. "Yeah." He cocked his head across the room at his friend. "I can't believe he just _left_ like that."

"I can," Brass returned with a tired smirk, wincing as he shifted his left arm.

Catherine sat hunched in a plastic chair, her usual take-charge demeanor settled back in place. "He's an ass, and we all know it. And we'll all stick with him no matter what stupid thing he does next."

"Which is nice, in a dysfunctional, deranged sort of way," Warrick answered distractedly, his concerned gaze on the homicide detective. "Yo, Brass, you gotta go in there and get that thing checked. Why didn't you say something?"

Catherine straightened up in her seat, peering sharply at a now squirming Brass. "You're hurt Jim?"

Brass shrugged evasively. "This little thing? Nothing but a bruise." He grimaced as another bolt of pain lanced through his limb.

Catherine was out of her seat before anyone could blink, standing in front of Brass with her hands on her hips and her eyes silently screaming threats only known by the mothers of the world. Understandably, Brass cringed. "Jim, get your ass in there and get that checked out _now_." She cut him off before he was finished inhaling. "And if you say it's 'just a bruise' one more time, I'll–"

"Going, going." He ambled to his feet, biting his lip as every little movement jarred his throbbing wrist. He didn't need some doctor to tell him he'd broken it. But as much as he wanted to wait for Grissom and/or Sara to get back, and for some news on Greg, he knew fighting with Catherine was like beating his head against a brick wall. "I'd never argue with a woman who used to get naked for a living." Didn't mean he'd go quietly.

"Good boy." Seeing his sour face, she smirked. "Suck it up, Brass, the triage rush from the pileup has thinned...and missing the drama won't do you any harm." All she got in return was another filthy look before he turned to make his way to the check in desk.

"Seriously, she couldn't, like, actually _hurt_ him, could she? I mean, she _is_ in a wheelchair," Nick continued on a long abandoned track like they had been discussing it all along. He wished the doctors would tell him something about Greg. He hadn't talked to him in a while, not since the shit hit with the shift change. _Damnit_. "I mean, what's she gonna do, run him over?"

Warrick snickered, and Catherine rolled her eyes, settling herself back into her hard chair as she tried to tune out the other patrons of the full waiting room."Nicky, do us a favor and shut up. Just because everything's bigger in Texas doesn't mean your mouth has to follow the rule. This is Vegas, baby, so deal."

Not sure whether he should comment on the obvious upside of the 'bigger' comment, he instead replied, "Y'know, Cath, there's a _word_ for people like you."

"Supervisor?"

HE rolled his eyes. "Ahh...yeah...that's the one..."

"Giver of your payckeck?"

"Sorry, that exceeds the one-word limit."

"Oh, well then I guess I'm _not_ giving you your paycheck." The raised eyebrow let him know he'd been had.

"Shutting up now."

"I knew you'd get it eventually, Nicky." Warrick just laughed.

5 minutes later, Brass came back in, looking distinctly disgruntled, and holding up a hand against Catherine's warning glare as he slumped back into his seat. "They're still backed up, I'm not bleeding or in danger of dying, I have a shit load of insurance forms to fill out because I don't go to General, and I'm now a very cranky man. Kindly keep it to yourself?"

Catherine sighed. "Right."

"20 minutes. Bet she's trying to find the best place to hide the body. She'll get away with it, too, I mean, she has the second highest solve rate in the lab next to Grissom, and _he_ doesn't really count. Especially if he's dead now..."

"_Nick!_"

Nick winced, knowing he was babbling as he wiped his clammy palms on his jeans. "Sorry Cath. I...this is all just so _surreal_, y'know? I mean, 30 minutes ago, we all thought Sara was _dead,_ and now no one will talk to us about Greg. I just....damn."

Catherine gave him a sympathetic smile, catching Warrick's calm, reassuring gaze for an instant before looking back at Nick. "I know, Nicky, believe me."

"We all do," Warrick at quietly, leaning forward and laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. He had never felt so damn lost when he thought that Sara and Greg had been killed. Now he was just trying to keep it together so he could go break down in peace.

Brass shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, about that. I guess I owe you folks an apology, right? I–"

"Hey, forget it, Brass, you were watching Sara. That's the important thing," Nick nodded his head at the detective, who shrugged, his guilt far from dissipated.

"Thanks, Nicky."

Warrick knew a change of subject was needed. "So who took Lindsey to school, Cath? Neighbor number one, or number two?" She'd made several calls as they raced to the Tahoe, but he hadn't been paying proper attention.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Neighbor number five. I've already filled my quota with the rest. I'm going to have to move so I can find new people to beg if this keeps up," An anxious note crept into her voice, but she tried to shake it off. Where was the damn doctor? Where was _Sara_? And why hadn't Grissom at least called?

A tight silence fell over them, except for the scratching of Brass's pen over the insurance forms. Most of the other occupants of the waiting room were silent too, staring at the floor or watching a mounted TV in the corner.

Nick's sigh was loud and nervous. "Seriously, guys, 27 minutes. I'm worried. We ought to at least go _look_ for Sara. Grissom was probably an ass again and just ignored her, but she's hurt! We ought to–"

"Nick," Catherine said quietly, her eyes wide.

"–Look, I'm sorry Cath, I know I'm babbling, but Sara was just _blown up_, for chissake, and–"

"Nick, Man," Warrick muttered with distracted urgency, his gaze intense as well.

"–No, come on! Look, I''m going to go outside and...Oh."

The four of them stared silently as a rather annoyed-looking Sara rolled slowly down the hall...pushed by a pale Grissom. "Grissom, really, I know how to use a wheelchair! I broke my leg in college, and–"

"Sara," His voice was hoarse and rough, but it held a note of exasperated warmth none of them had heard in a very long time. She said nothing, but made a face at them as he pushed her into the room.

Grissom stopped for a moment, looking around hesitantly for a vacant spot. "You want the couch?"

She nodded, a tiny sheepish smile appearing. "Yeah, this chair makes my ass hurt." He nodded, moving her over to the empty, bearably uncomfortable two-seater, and helping her move from the wheelchair to the cloth covered seat despite her mild protest. Then, looking rather lost, he stood, glancing around for another spot for him. The others waited for some acknowledgment of there presence, not speaking. Brass's pen hung suspended in the air, mid-word.

"Grissom."

"Huh?" His eyes flew back to her quickly.

"There is room for another person here," she replied with an arched brow, looking amused even though her exhaustion was obvious.

"Oh." He held still for another moment, before shuffling over and dropping himself down gingerly beside her. He sat there stiffly for a moment before Sara rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Grissom, would you chill out? It's just an uncomfortable couch, and it's not going to suck you into its fathomless depths if you lean back."

"Stranger things have happened," he replied matter-of-factly, even as he slumped exhaustedly against the back, his head lolling to the side to face her, as she settled comfortably back into the opposite corner. Again, she only rolled her eyes.

"Any word on Greg?" His eyes were suddenly on Catherine, who blinked, not at all sure she wasn't hallucinating.

"Uh, no." He gave a little shrug, and nodded.

"Hey, everything okay?" Warrick asked Sara uneasily, hoping the brunette would shed a little light on the odd display they'd just seen.

Again, Sara just rolled her eyes, looking suitably confused herself. A brief silence settled.

"Hey..." Nick said slowly after a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "You're not dead!"

At first Sara thought he meant her, and opened her mouth to give Nick some sort of soothing response, but Grissom beat her to the punch, his eyes slipping shut slowly as the extreme events of the past twelve hours dragged him down into a blank sleep. "No, Nicky, I'm not. What could she do, run me over?" His smirk was brief but obvious.

"Maybe tomorrow after I've gotten some rest," Sara shot back, but his eyes stayed closed, and his only verbal response was shallow, even breaths of slumber.

Again, Sara rolled her eyes at the four of them, giving one lat, confused look at the sleeping man beside her, before her own lids drifted closed. In the resulting shocked silence, Nick stared, Warrick shook his head, and Catherine blinked and blinked again for good measure. Brass just sighed with a small smile and began to write once more as they all waited for news on Greg.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Floating was a nice sensation. It was comfortable and easy and peaceful, and he rather liked it there.

When his eyes drifted open and all he could see was a blur of light, the first thing Greg could think was that they really oughtn't put so many lights over the swimming pool as it distracted him from floating.

Then the pain hit, exploding through his chest with the fury of a caged lion. "Uuhhnn." He was sinking or falling or flying now, and it wasn't all that great. Yeah, he definitely preferred floating.

"Mr. Sanders? Greg? Do you understand me?" A blue blur crossed his vision, and Greg felt he'd had this dream before. He let out another moan.

"You're at County General, Mr. Sanders, and you're going to be OK."

_We got blown up again. _

_Yeah._

The rush of memories that assaulted him was brutal and harsh. He flinched back against the sound of the explosion and the wet, warm feeling that spread through his chest and burned up his lungs as he lay in the dark with Sara. Was Sara OK? God, she had to be. He opened his mouth to trying to speak to the doctor hovering over him. "Uuuhhgg."

"I know you're in a lot of pain, Mr. Sanders, but just try to relax. You've been in surgery, but everything is fine now. Just try to relax."

Desperate to know if Sara was alright, he struggled against the weight pulling him back into blissful darkness. Swallowing past the pain in his throat, he managed to rasp out "_Sara_."

The doctor frowned at him for a moment before his face cleared. "Miss Sidle was brought in after you, Mr. Sanders. She's fine."

He let out a tight sigh, mindful of the pain constricting his lungs. She was alright. They were both alright. He hissed out an pained breath as another fire bolt of agony blossomed through his frame. Well, they were both _alive_ at any rate.

"Mr. Sanders, we're going to give you something for the pain now, we just need to take a few readings while you're awake. Think you can hang on for us that long?" Greg didn't respond, but the doctor obviously wasn't expecting anything from him, instead moving around him with gentle touches, and not so gentle prods. After an eternity of dazed pain, Greg suddenly felt a sharp burn shoot through his arm, before a cool wave of relief swept through him, and his eyes slipped shut helplessly once more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Grissom? Griss, wake up." Something was shaking him out a very nice, very dark place, and he didn't really like it. "Grissom, c'mon, wake up, the doctor has updated us on Greg's condition, and you have to fill out some very late information forms for him."

Greg. That particular name sent a jolt of panic through him. _Sara?_

Grissom bolted upright, looking around dazedly, fright clinging to his muddled mind. Her concerned gaze stared back at him. "Griss?" Right. Explosion, hospital, Sara. He let out a quiet gasp of relief.

"How is he?" He winced at the dry croak that came out of his mouth.

"He's doing really well," Catherine answered from beside him, handing him a cup of cold water, which he drank greedily. Sara had just finished telling them the extent of her own injuries when the doctor had arrived to give them news on Greg. "He's out of surgery and about to be moved out of the ICU to his own room."

Grissom blinked. That was rather quick. Of course, it was Sara who picked up on his confusion. "We sort of crashed, Grissom. I was out for over two hours, and you've been asleep almost three." Her smile was sincere, but unsure. They certainly had a lot of talking to do. First, Grissom had to figure out what he wanted to say.

"Ah." Yeah, that was a nice start.

"So since you're the first contact on his form, and his mother lives in Michigan, work out the kinks from your fingers, Gil, cause this stack of papers makes the Sierra Nevadas look like a couple of bumps in the road." Brass handed him the thick folder with an almost disturbed glee.

"Will we be able to see him soon?" Grissom fought back a sigh as Brass jovially presented him with a pen, and he opened the folder up to the first page. Apparently, Brass felt it was only fair for someone else to have to suffer the torture of Hospital medical forms.

"Yeah, the doctor says next time he wakes up, we can go in a few at a time," Nick answered, his whole figure tight with adrenaline drain, but his face was split wide with a smile.

"Looks like everyone's going to pull out of this OK," Warrick added, with a warm smile at Sara, his hand resting lightly on Catherine's forearm.

Grissom felt a slow smile of his own tilting up the corners of his mouth as he looked around at the people before him. His friends. His family. His gaze stopped on Sara, who grinned back shyly as his smile grew. Yeah, for the first time in a while, he thought everything was going toturn out finein the end.

* * *

OK all, ONE CHAPTER LEFT! WHOO! But, though the end of this fic is near, the end of this series is not. Yeah, you heard me, SERIES. ::sobs:: My muse has taken me hostage. I'm no longer in control of my own writing! Oh well. Oh, and wasn't cooperating, and I couldn't remember where Greg grew up, so I just put Michigan, because I could. I'll probably fix it when I get a chance! Thanks for Reading! 


	7. The End

**A/N:** OK, People, this is IT for New Ground. This is the un-checked, unrevised, undeniably sucky but completely FINAL chapter of this fic. Please just stick it out for the team, eh? Read On.

Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to GeekLoveFan, who totally rocks my world with her fic **Facades**. Go Read it _now_ damn it!

* * *

**Normally, Sara **would have found the silence that had settled over them to be oppressive, but now, it just felt comfortable and..safe. And she reallyneeded a little 'safe' right now. Her gaze darted to her left, taking in Grissom's profile, before traveling back to the white tiles of the waiting room floor.

Ok, so today had been...a little crazy. Or completely un-freakin-believable, to be more accurate. Sara Sidle, in twelve hours, had been blown up, rescued, put through the tests and trials of triage, mobbed by relieved friends, and kissed senseless by Gil Grissom before he broke down in her arms. un-freakin-believable. She sighed.

"I hate how white hospitals are," Nick muttered, staring at the ground.

Sara knew the feeling. "Yeah, but if hospitals were blue, Nick, you'd hate that, too. It's the setting, not the decor." Nick just kept looking at the floor.

"Hey, I hate to break up the whole hospital philosophy group we have going, but does anybody have any aspirin?" Brass asked, his sarcastic remark filled with an undertone of pain. He'd turned in his forms fifteen minutes ago, but his injured wrist still hadn't been looked at.

Before anyone could answer, Catherine stood up, straightening her blouse. "Where are you going, Cat?" Warrick asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm going to go kick some Las Vegas General Hospital ass. Believe it or not, broken bones need treated. Don't worry, Warrick, I won't be long." She gave him a rather edgy smile, and threw a nod at Brass before stalking towards a very unfortunate desk receptionist.

"I think whoever Catherine gets a hold of is going to be needing the aspirin more than you, Brass," Nick said, with a sage nod. Brass could only shift at his aching wrist gingerly.

Sara, never one to sit still, gave a swift tug on her wheelchair, lifting herself out of the couch and swinging gently down into the chair before anyone could protest. "I'm going to go get myself a soda. Anybody have change?"

Four men in the room gave an immediate outcry of protest, and she could feel Grissom hovering closer, half rising out of his seat. "Look, guys, I'm going to be in this chair for a while, ok? And believe me, making all my coffee trips for me is going to get really old, so just hand over the money and let me be." She could sense Grissom's worried gaze, seeing the others still wearing theirs, but could not meet his eyes. She had no idea where they stood with one another. "Trust me."

A brief jingle of coins and then Nick was dropping five quarters into her open palm. "There, Sar." He gave her a small smile.

"Thanks Nicky." Dropping the coins in her lap, she made quick work of maneuvering out into the hall and down near the entrance to the snack machines.

The task of putting quarters into a machine from such a low position was more daunting than one might think. In fact, Sara was so focused on the task, that she didn't notice Grissom until a warm, heavy hand rested gently on her shoulder, staying there through her surprised flinch. "Hey."

She smiled thinly, but didn't turn her head to him. "I said I could get it, Grissom."

For a moment, he didn't respond, but when he did, it was a soft answer right in her ear. "You look tired."

Sara had passed tired a long time ago. She was creeping up into the numbingly exhausted area now. "I'll live." She dropped the last quarter into the machine and punched the button for a Pepsi.

"Yeah." She could hear the relived sigh in that answer, and finally gathered the courage to turn her head to the left and meet his gaze.

His face was mere inches from her own, his blue eyes focused intensely back at her as he leaned over the back of the wheelchair. She fought down a nervous laugh. Wasn't he supposed to be retreating now? She'd nearly died, true, but he'd had sufficient to make sure she was ok. What was this?

"We..." he let out a quiet sigh. "We have a lot of talking to do, Sara."

"No, we don't," she blurted, wincing as soon as it left her mouth. "Uh, what I mean is that...Grissom...if you don't...I- you were scared. I get that. We...you don't have to explain and...I get it." The thunk of a bottle hitting metal resounded through the hall as the Pepsi fell from the depths of the machine.

His smirk threw her for a loop. "Obviously you don't, Sara, not that I blame you. I...this isn't...it isn't..." He frowned, looking as though he were searching for the right words. "That wasn't a plant, Sara."

"Well, no Grissom, not _exactly_." She couldn't help but let small grin leak out. As potentially heartbreaking as this whole scenario was, that had definitely _not_ been a _plant_.

He sighed, but the smile stayed on his face. "What I mean is...this...this isn't going to go away." A shocked silence hung in the air. "I wont let it."

Sara couldn't seem to make her mouth close. "Oh." There were a million things she wanted to say, a trillion questions she needed to ask, but none of them seemed to want to come out. "Oh."

His smile widened, and his warm gaze held hers for a long moment, his palm coming up for an instant to brush across her cheek, his thumb gliding swiftly along her jaw. "We _will_ talk, Sara, I promise." he broke her gaze and leaned over to grab her soda out of the bin, handing it to her. "But I think we should worry about..._'this'_ later. Not a lot later...but this moment just...isn't the time to cover new ground." He cocked his head, watching her carefully.

New ground? Were they on new ground? Sara's mind was a whirlwind of doubts and old pain, but for the first time in a long time, a bright light of hope bubbled up through it all. "A-alright. Yeah." New ground. She thought she was smiling, maybe even grinning like an idiot, but the haze of exhaustion still surrounding her, even after her nap, made her unsure.

Without even waiting for her permission, Grissom began to wheel her back to the waiting room, the silence between them held without tension. As they reached the others, they saw that Catherine had returned, and was looking very pleased with herself as she spoke to Brass. Before they could ask, however, the double doors from the triage bay opened, and a Doctor stepped out, looking around the rather full room. "Dr. Grissom?"

"Yes?" they all held their breath as Grissom shook the doctor's hand.

"I'm Doctor Veterri. Mr. Sanders is awake now, and he's asking to see his family." At the looks of consternation he received from the people who were listening, Dr. Veterri smiled slightly. "Well, you know, even though he is out of the ICU, he's still only allowed to be seen by family members." He cleared his throat. "So, as his uncle, Dr. Grissom, I'm sure you're very anxious to see him. I'll take you to his room now, along with his brother and sister, Aunt, Brother in law, and...I think it was his Aunt's husband." He grinned at them as the chuckled. "Apparently Mr. Sanders has a mind for details even sufficiently settled on painkillers. Now, if you'll please follow me, his room is in another part of the hospital."

Letting out a collective sigh of relief, the six members of Greg's extended 'family' followed the doctor through the halls to see their friend.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was a song called Comfortably Numb, wasn't there? Greg squinted at the ceiling as though it would provide him with the answer. When no response was forthcoming, he blew out a sigh. Either way, he was no longer burning or floating or flying or sinking. He was just lying on a hospital bed and numb. Or maybe too drugged to know any different. He grinned at the thought.

His eyes snapped over to the door when he heard it open, his face falling in disappointment when it was just the doctor. He really needed to see- "Sara!" He winced at the fire that spread through his chest when he moved, but the grin stayed on his face.

"Take it easy, Greggo," she soothed with a smile of her own, relief rolling off of her in waves as she wheeled up to his bedside behind the doctor. "How you feeling?" Her hand made its way around his, squeezing very gently, her eyes a little misty. He gripped back tightly, ignoring the IV, shutting his eyes for a brief moment as the reality of it all truly sunk in for the first time.

"I'm ok now." He squeezed her hand again with another grin. "We're pretty good at this whole trauma thing, aren't we?"

"You mean getting into them, or dealing with them?" Sara asked with a brow arched in amusement.

"Both, probably."

She nodded. "Well, we're both out of the 'basement' for now, and that's sort of all that matters."

"Yeah." There was silence. '_We got blown up again.' _He shook it off. "Which makes me wonder-"

"How we got down there in the first place?" She shrugged at his nod. "Who the hell knows, Greg. But we got out. We got out."

This time, his smile was more comfortable, and his muscles more relaxed. "Yeah." He glanced away as a he caught a movement from the doorway. "Nick! Hey man, how's it hanging," he called with a wide grin.

Nick sidled over beside Sara with a huge smile on his face. "Damn, Greggo, you had us all worried." The deep relief was clear in the Texan's dark eyes.

"Hah, you just want your spot back on Night shift," Greg returned easily, his smile holding a tinge of awkward reassurance.

Nick just rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude." Then he sobered for a moment. "Seriously Greg, I'm glad you're OK, man."

"We all are, Greggo." Greg looked up to see Warrick moving forward with a slow smile, Catherine right behind him. Grissom stayed back a bit, leaning against the doorframe, with a keen gaze and Brass stood next to him, looking relieved but uncomfortable.

"Hey everybody! You here for the party?" Greg hadn't realized how much he had wanted to see them _all_, even if Sara had been at the top of that list.

"Shut up Greg!" Catherine came forward past Warrick with a huge smile and tears in her eyes, leaning down and planting a kiss on his forehead before he could do more than gape.

"Uh, hey Catherine. Not that I'm against a kiss from a babe, but that was sort of grandmotherly don't you think? I mean, my lips aren't hurt or anything..." She just laughed at his hopeful expression, sniffling a bit.

"Not today, Greg. Not today."

"So tomorrow then?"

"Man, give _up_ already," Warrick chuckled, patting his arm gently in mock-consolation.

"No respect for the injured!" Greg huffed in amiable indignance, his gaze landing nervously on Grissom before darting away. The four noticed.

"Hey, Gentlemen, it's an open house, so don't be shy," Catherine said to the two in the doorway, with a pointed look at Grissom, who had the grace to look mildly sheepish.

Brass actually came forward first. "I'll be quick, _Greggo_, so I can go get plaster on this bum wrist," he said, with his old sarcastic sneer on Greg's name, but a friendly wink to go with it.

"Wh-what happened?" Greg asked the question cautiously, unused to being on good terms with the detective.

"Well, same thing that happened to you, if I was gonna take a guess. But you CSI's are always a step ahead of me, so what do _you _think?" Greg winced at the cynical tone, even though Brass's eyes were still friendly. Seeing it, Brass softened. "Hey Greg, I'm glad you're OK. Take a break and enjoy kicking back on company time, right? Doesn't happen often." He gave Greg an easy smile, which was returned hesitantly. "Well...I don't wanna miss the doctor after Catherine reduced some poor kid to tears to get me in, so..."

He gave Greg a nod, and leaned down to quickly pull Sara into a gruff bear hug, muttering "See you later, kiddo," before disappearing out the door.

"How are you, Greg?" Grissom was there suddenly, his hand resting absently on Sara's shoulder as he peered down piercingly on his newest CSI. At first Greg had thought Grissom didn't want to deal with him, but then he realized he'd simply been standing back to let the others have their turn first. It was the way Grissom did most things, really.

"Ok, Boss. Either I'm doing really well, or I'm on some _really_ good drug," Greg smirked, but a sudden wave of fatigue swept over him, and a yawn slipped out through his grin. Grissom gave a small chuckle along with the others.

"A little of both, actually, Mr. Sanders," The doctor said, speaking for the first time from the corner where he stood. Greg nodded, his eyelids suddenly inexplicably heavy. "And I do hate to rush you all, but Mr. Sanders _does_ need his rest."

"No, come on, they can st-a-a-ay," Greg insisted, not ready for them to leave, though his assurance was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Hey Greg, we'll be back, but the doc's right. You need to rest up and get better," Sara said with a warming smile, and he dazedly realized he was still gripping her hand.

"But I was wondering if...about the...the accident. Are, am I...?" He didn't know how to voice his fears.

"I told you Greg, _I_ was the goddamn primary. _I'm_ the one who fucked up, and if Ecklie wants someone's ass, I'm first in line, not you." Sara looked away, and Greg was taken aback to see the guilt on her face.

"Conrad has nothing to get either of you on." Grissom's voice startled Greg with its firmness. "If anyone is going to suffer any backlash from this, it will be the first officer on scene. Neither of you did anything wrong, and it wont have any impact on your records." Greg still felt unsure. "Greg, you have my word, OK?" Surprised, he just nodded, watching as his boss squeezed Sara's shoulder gently, his thumb moving along her collar bone absently. _Whoa, **that's** new._ A tired grin slipped onto his face as another yawn leaked out.

"I think that's our cue, folks," Catherine said with a smile, patting Greg's leg.

"But I...I don't..." How could he explain it? All of a sudden, he desperately did not want to be alone, some tired, drugged fear creeping up through his insides. He swallowed. "Can't–"

"Come on Greg, don't argue. We need you to heal up so we can get you back in the lab, catering to out every whim," Nick teased. "Hey bro, don't worry, we'll all swing by before shift tomorrow, OK?" He reached over Sara and squeezed his wrist, his smile not quite soothing Greg's nerves.

"Yeah, man, take it easy 'till we get back. Glad you're alright, Greg. _Damn_ glad you're alright." Warrick nodded a goodbye and then followed Catherine and Nick out.

"You gonna be OK, Greggo?" Sara asked softly, and Greg blinked slowly, marveling at the spinning room.

"I...maybe?" Damn, he hadn't meant it to come out as a question.

The hand still within his squeezed, spreading comfort through his tired body. "You will be, Greg, and we'll be back before you know it. I'm going to go spend the next week bored to death in my apartment, so, don't hesitate to ring me."

"Try two weeks, Sara." Grissom was still there?

"Right." Greg tried to grin at her petulant voice, but couldn't manage it. He was slipping in to darkness, and he could almost taste the nightmares.

Somehow, Sara seemed to know. "Greg, I want you to listen, OK? We got out. Just remember that. When you're sleeping, nothing can touch you. We got out, and we're ok. You're OK, Greg. _You got out_." Her voice and that mantra in his mind, Greg felt a surprisingly silent, peaceful sleep slide over him as her hand slipped from his, ready to face whatever came tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You going home?" Catherine turned at Warrick's voice. She was taking the Tahoe home while he and Nick took cabs. They turned to wave as Nick hailed a yellow car and got in.

"Yeah, you?"

He blinked, and smiled slightly, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess." An almost awkward silence fell over them.

"You want to..."

"Hey, I was wondering if..." They stopped, sharing embarrassed smiles.

"Not the right time, I guess," he supplied for both of them.

She nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I need to see Lindsey, and you look pretty dead on your feet." He nodded in return. "So...shift starts in four hours...see you then, I guess."

"Yeah, I'll see you, Cath. Say hey to Linds for me." She smiled.

"I will."

In a swift movement, she stepped forward, and he pulled her into a warm hug. Both stayed still for long moment, savoring the feeling and the closeness. Eventually, they reluctantly parted, their smiles no longer embarrassed, simply comfortable.

"So, see you next shift, _Boss_." He winked at her, and she grinned back, climbing into the Tahoe.

"You bet." Another grin, and he shut her door, watching as she pulled out of the parking lot and down the street, still smiling to himself as he hailed a cab to go home. It had been one damn long day, but somehow, it had all turned out for the better in the end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You two leaving?" Brass rubbed his itchy cast uncomfortably. Six weeks till the damn thing was off. God, it was gonna be a long month and a half.

"Yeah, I'm giving Sara a lift. You need one?" Grissom offered as he wheeled her down the hall.

Brass considered the two people before him. "Nah, I'll just take a cab. Easier on everybody."

"You gonna come tomorrow and see Greg?" He smiled at Sara.

"If you're coming, then I guess I could show up and keep you company," he returned easily.

She laughed lightly. "You, Jim Brass, are one big softy."

"Nah, I'm just getting too old for this shit. You spread that stuff around Sidle, and I'm ruined," he warned, grinning in spite of himself. "I still have to finish with the front desk before I'm gone, so you two go on ahead."

"Bye Brass, see you tomorrow. And...thanks."

"For what?" He'd done nothing but try not to panic.

"For- for being there with me. I, I don't know how I would have been if you hadn't been in the ambulance with me." She blushed and looked down.

"Hey," He grabbed her hand and squeezed lightly. "You're a fighter, Sar. I was just along for the free ride and the cool whirly lights." She laughed. "Take care kiddo." She nodded, and looked at Grissom, who hesitated.

"I–" He glanced from her to Brass uneasily.

"I'll be waiting on the sidewalk Griss." She smiled at him and wheeled out without a backwards glance.

"Yyyyess?" Brass grinned.

"I...I should thank you too, Jim. For watching out for my CSI's." He paused. "For watching out for Sara."

Brass chuckled. "Why Gil, is that you head I see peeking out of your ass? The light's a little bright, isn't it?"

Grissom glared, but it was an empty threat. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jim."

"Yeah, see you." But Grissom was already shuffling hurriedly after Sara. Brass gave a final grin, unexpectedly happy with the outcome of the horrific day, and turned back to fill out some _more_ papers for that Nazi at the front desk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I want you to _sleep_ Sara, and if you even _try_ coming in tonight, I'll–"

"Right. Look Grissom, I'm completely dead on my...well, in my chair. I plan on crashing tonight, thank you very much, so save your threats for when the cabin fever sets in." As they stood outside her apartment, the air was so pleasantly free of tension, they both felt almost giddy. God what a strange day.

He smirked at her. "Right." They enjoyed a moment of silence, before he spoke again. "Call if you need anything?"

She smiled at him, feeling exhaustion shaking in her muscles. "I will."

For the second time that day, his hand caressed her face. "Anything, Sara. I mean it."

Blinking and drained and content, Sara nodded. "Thank you, Grissom."

Both knew nothing more could be said right then. There was too much to cover and not enough time for their sleep-deprived brains to dissect it all. Sharing a final smile, Grissom's hand slid off her cheek. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, Sara."

"Right, Grissom, see you then." She watched, as he turned away, making his way back to his vehicle. His phone rang as he went, and she could hear his standard 'Grissom' as he disappeared around the corner. Grinning, and too tired to worry about just how screwed up all of this was, Sara wheeled into her apartment, headed straight for pajamas and bed, the door shutting with a soft 'click' behind her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sofia sniffled, sniffled again, and finally gave in and sneezed. "Uhg!" She definitely didn't want to go to work tonight. But she'd already taken last night off, and she wasn't fevered anymore. She sighed disappointedly, reaching for the phone beside her bed. So what if he was asleep, she was going to call him.

He picked up on the third ring, a monotone "Grissom." Reaching her ears as she'd expected. He didn't sound groggy.

"Uh, hey Grissom, it's Sofia. I just wanted to tell you that I'll be coming in tonight, and I wanted to check up and see what all I missed out on last shift...Grissom?"

**THE FREAKIN END. (But not really)**

* * *

GAHH! It's DONE! I FINISHED a multichapter fic! YEAHH! Ok, yeah, I'm disgustingly proud of myself, because I'm so dang lazy, it's ridiculous. ::Grins::

**OK, PEOPLE** This one is IMPORTANT. I have gotten incredible feedback from this fic, but I know there are those of you who read and don't review, which honors me completely that you've even taken the time to read my work. But THIS is the chapter where I need EVERYONE who has read my little...thingy...to review and tell me what you think. This is where I need your opinion on where you want it to go in the sequel, how you think I'm doing, and where I really need to get a feel for how many of you are reading my stuff. I haven't asked for feedback before, because you have all been delivering so beautifully anyway, but THIS IS THE TIME where, even if I never hear from you again, I need you to drop me a line and send out your thoughts, anonymous, flames, or peals of laughter at my stupidity. Thank you all sooo much for sticking with me, it's been an incredible experience, and the first chapter of thenextfic in this seriesshould be up by the end of the weekend!

* * *

**TEASER: **(For those of you who wanna know what the next fic holds. ::silence:: Anyone? ANYONE? Aw, hell, you get it anyway.)

After the events ofNG, Greg's mother comes to town to 'help' him out, Catherine and Warrick are trying to move in a good direction and avoid the cringeing drama that ensues, the author is desperately trying to figure out how to stand writing Sofia into her fic, and the Geeks just can't catch themselves a break to work things out. Did I mention the serial killer? Oh yeah...


End file.
